Forged in Fire: The 75th Hunger Games
by Elim9
Summary: "Great men are forged in fire. It is the privilege of lesser men to light the flame ... whatever the cost."
1. Safe

**Disclaimer:** Five SYOTs in, and the Hunger Games is still not mine.

 **Note:** Yeah, I did it. I did the one thing I said I wasn't going to do with SYOTs: start one while I'm still very much in the process of working on another. But, by this point, I'm convinced I can handle it. So here goes.

* * *

 **Forged in Fire  
** **The 75** **th** **Hunger Games**

* * *

 **Prologue  
** **Safe**

* * *

 **Raphael Angulo, 18  
** **District Three Citizen**

Why did his last reaping year have to be a Quarter Quell?

Raphael huddled together with his parents as the screen switched on, heralding the announcement of the Third Quarter Quell, already only a few weeks away. Raphael braced himself as President Linus took the stage. Short, thin, and a bit mousy, the president didn't look particularly intimidating. But, right now, his words could mean life or death for so many in the districts.

Raphael drummed his fingers on his leg, waiting. Watching as the president smiled at the young girl beside him. The little girl who held a box, which held a card, which contained the Quell twist. Raphael clenched his fists to stop himself from twitching as the president removed the card from the box.

 _"As a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of Victors."_

Silence. Raphael blinked, slowly working it out. The Victors. The Victors were going to be the tributes. Raphael stared at the screen long after the president had left the stage. The Victors. He knew he should feel something. Shock. Indignance. Fury that the Capitol would do this to people who had already been through the Games once. But, instead, he felt only relief.

He was safe.

* * *

" _Safe? No! Of course you're not safe! There's about a billion other things out there just waiting to burn your whole world. But if you want to pretend you're safe just so you can sleep at night, then okay, you're safe. But you're not really."_

* * *

Yep, it's a Victors' Quell. A non-canon, not-related-to-my-other-stories Victors' Quell. More info is up on my profile, including the tribute form and a few guidelines. You know the drill by now; head on over there if you're interested in submitting.


	2. Between

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

* * *

 **Prologue Part Two  
** **Between**

* * *

 **Justine Burgess, 18  
** **District Two Trainee**

It wasn't fair.

Justine gritted her teeth as she drove another spear through one of the dummies. It was getting late; most of the other trainees had already left the academy. But she wasn't ready. Not yet. She couldn't just leave.

She didn't know how.

All her life had led to this. To the academy. To the Games. To the Quarter Quell she had dreamed of since she had begun training. Only two months ago, she had been selected to volunteer.

But the Quell announcement had ruined everything.

It wasn't fair. The Victors had already had their chance at the Games. They had already proven themselves. This was supposed to be _her_ year. Her last year. Her last chance.

Now there was no chance at all.

Still, she lingered at the academy, clinging to the faint hope that maybe – just _maybe_ – they would change their minds. Maybe they would decide not to send the Victors back into the Games. Maybe she would still get her chance. Part of her knew it was just wishful thinking, of course. But it was all she had.

What else was she supposed to do?

* * *

" _There's quite a difference isn't there? Between what was and what should have been."_


	3. Understand

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Submissions are now closed, and the tribute list is at the end of the chapter, along with a list of (some of) the mentors. I got quite a few submissions, and numbers made some of the choices hard, but I ended up being able to include at least one submission from everyone who submitted - either as a tribute or as a mentor. Some submitters have both a tribute and a mentor, but no one has more than one of either.

Reapings will begin next chapter.

On a different note, while I greatly appreciate your support, please don't start a review war on my behalf. Everyone's entitled to their opinion, and everyone is entitled to voice their opinion. You're welcome to disagree, of course, but let's keep it civil on both sides and not resort to insults/name-calling.

* * *

 **Prologue Part Three  
** **Understand**

* * *

 **Nerys Grover, 91  
** **Victor of the 1** **st** **Hunger Games**

"They can't do this."

Nerys shook her head as she held Turner close. Her youngest great-grandchild was still too young. Too young to understand.

Not too young to understand what the Games meant, of course. Or what this Quell meant. He knew. He knew there was a chance – a one in three chance, in fact – that she would be returning to the Games. District Nine had five Victors. Three female. Two male. Her chances weren't good, and they all knew it.

And she wasn't kidding herself. If she was reaped, this time she was as good as dead. She had survived once, so many years ago. Back when she was younger. Stronger. Full of determination and the will to survive, desperate to live despite the death that had surrounded her during the Rebellion.

But those days were long gone. Today was a good day; she had been able to dress herself and walk to breakfast on her own. But she wouldn't last five minutes in the arena.

And they all knew that. Even Turner knew that. But still, he held on to hope. The hope that the Capitol would change their mind. That they wouldn't – they _couldn't_ – really mean to send twenty-four Victors back into the nightmare that was the arena.

They couldn't.

Everyone had said the same thing seventy-four years ago. The Capitol wouldn't _really_ go through with their promise. They simply _couldn't_ mean to send twenty-four children into an arena to fight to the death. But they had. Year after year. Death after death. Time and again, they had proven only one thing: The Capitol kept their promises.

And there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

* * *

" _I have seen things you wouldn't believe. I have lost things you will never understand."_

* * *

 **Tribute List**

 **District One:**

Aelin Kuang _(upsettomcat42)  
_ Hadrian Xiao _(Lazy Owl10)_

 **District Two:**

Freya Basnett _(bobothebear)  
_ Demetrius Ashworth _(Deuce Ex Machina)_

 **District Three:**

Wisteria Cassava _(Acereader55)  
_ Euclid Hoover _(Jael . Rice . 1)_

 **District Four:**

Cedra Devere _(Tear That Cherry Out)  
_ Galen Archer _(MornieGalad Baggins)_

 **District Five:**

Shyanne James _(BamItsTyler)  
_ Valion Surge _(ZJB3)_

 **District Six:**

Camryn Cartier _(nevergone4ever)  
_ Evo Ortega _(Ariem)_

 **District Seven:**

Hatchet Ford _(PuTtHaTcOoKiEDoWn)  
_ Clark Tierney _(jakey121)_

 **District Eight:**

Cadaya Kallier _(Jabber Blabber Ink)  
_ Maximus Kellen _(fat necrosis)_

 **District Nine:**

Ebony Kracov _(Greybeard mmmmmm3)  
_ Aras Everett _(TitanMaddix)_

 **District Ten:**

Irina Cavell _(LokiThisIsMadness)  
_ Gareth Arch _(ElementalEvolution)_

 **District Eleven:**

Ira Hope _(Reader Castellan)  
_ Jani Aramine _(ehonte concierge)_

 **District Twelve:**

Silvesta Ardin _(HestiaAbnegation11)  
_ Felix Norwood _(Jalen Kun)_

* * *

 **Mentors** will include (but are not limited to) in no particular order (for now)...

Henley Walsh _(Axe Smelling God)  
_ Avery Bennett _(Jms2)_  
Irina Powell _(Miss Spring1)  
_ Winnow Rathings _(RandomTributeAccount)  
_ Jay Royal _(jayman1919)  
_ Charlie Smelt _(StellaSlomp)  
_ Jasper Ivener _(Creative AJL)  
_ Elias Monet _(TitanMaddix)  
_ Rufus Knox _(Lazy Owl10)  
_ Robben Shepherd _(MornieGalad Baggins)  
_ Merril Keenbrand _(upsettomcat42)  
_ Hylan Dunn _(santiago . poncini20)  
_ Aramanth Blackwood _(ChocolateChipHomicide)  
_ Magnus Sigma _(RoseVia03)  
_ Barric Lee _(MidnightRaven323)  
_ Ravi Mazzarin _(Jael . Rice . 1)_


	4. District One: Decision

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Quick shout-out to my sister, MornieGalad Baggins, who has an open First Quarter Quell SYOT! If your creative tribute-making juices are still flowing and you're looking for somewhere to submit, head over to her profile and send some tributes her way.

Also, yes, there is a website for this story, and it will be updated periodically with new tributes/mentors/Victors as we go through the reapings. The link is forgedinfire75 . weebly . com. (Take out the spaces.) Enjoy.

Lastly, thank you to _upsettomcat42_ and _Lazy Owl10_ for Aelin and Hadrian, respectively, and to _jayman1919_ for Jay.

* * *

 **District One  
** **Decision**

* * *

 **Genesis Harding, 65  
** **Victor of the 28** **th** **Hunger Games**

It felt strange – knowing that she was safe.

Genesis shook her head slowly as she, Sybil, and Aelin headed for the district square. "And you still mean to go through with it?" She didn't want to seem pushy – or, worse, sound like she _wanted_ one of her oldest friends to volunteer – but there was a part of her that still didn't believe it. That couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that _anyone_ would be willing – or even eager – to go back into the arena.

Once, she may have understood. Forty years ago, she may even have jumped at the chance herself. Back in District One's glory days, when the Career system was brand new and exciting. But that was a long time ago. She had moved on. She had her family to think of. Her husband was gone, but she still had her children. Her grandchildren. She couldn't afford to be running around playing tribute again.

One glance at Sybil told Genesis that she was thinking the same thing. Sybil's first grandchild was on the way. The two of them had so much to lose – so much precious time with their families that they couldn't afford to waste.

But Aelin…

What made her different? After her Games, she had seemed to move on. She had a husband – one of the wealthiest businessmen in the district. She had no children of her own, but she had three nieces and nephews. Loved ones who would miss her if the worst should happen.

But Aelin simply shrugged. "Why not? What do I have to lose?"

 _Your life_ , Genesis almost said, but she already knew that voicing her concern would get her nowhere. In so many ways, Aelin was still the same young Career who had won the Games forty-two years ago. The thought of dying had never bothered her – only the thought of dying unrecognized, unremembered. A death in the Games … well, it didn't get much more spectacular than that. Was that her plan – to go out with a bang?

Genesis sighed as the three of them took the stage, where eight chairs were lined up in a row. Eight living Victors. Four male. Four female. The other Victors were already seated, waiting for them. Genesis smiled apologetically as they took their places. Aelin always insisted on arriving last. Even at sixty, she wanted to make an entrance.

Genesis said nothing as she took a seat next to Blanche, who smiled back warmly and put a hand on her arm. "It'll be all right, sweetie," she cooed, and Genesis couldn't help smiling back.

 _Yes, it will. For us, at least._

Aelin couldn't hide the look of distaste on her face as she settled into her own seat. Genesis fought back a glare. Aelin and Blanche had never been close, but, as Blanche had gotten older, Aelin had pulled away even more, repelled by the old woman's warm smiles and soothing voice. Blanche was a reminder – a reminder that they were all getting older. That the youth and vigor they had once enjoyed were slipping away every day.

Genesis shook her head. Part of her wondered whether that was the real reason that Aelin was planning to volunteer again. Did the thought of ending up like Blanche scare her so much that she was willing to face the Games again in order to avoid it?

Genesis didn't have much time to ponder the thought. District One's escort, Velma Winters, took her place by the first reaping bowl – a bowl that was hauntingly empty. Four slips of paper. Four names. And one of them was hers.

Velma drew a slip of paper, slowly unfolded it, and read the name. "Sibyl Piraino!"

But it didn't matter. True to her word, Aelin stood up immediately. "I volunteer." No hesitation. No doubt. Her voice carried the same enthusiasm, the same fire, as it had when she had spoken those same words forty-two years ago. She was just as determined. Just as confident. Mentally, she was as ready as ever.

But physically…

Velma almost looked relieved. Relieved that the name she had drawn carried no weight. That she didn't have to carry the burden of choosing one of her beloved Victors to die. Genesis glanced over at the male Victors as Velma made her way to the second reaping bowl. Surely none of them were planning to volunteer.

Her own mentor, Ezekiel, shook his head sadly. Beside him, Virgil, District One's first Victor, stared off into the distance. Hadrian's face was stony. Expressionless. Jay was trying to copy the same expression, but Genesis couldn't help but notice that his gaze was fixed on his wife. His two sons.

Velma dipped her hand in the reaping bowl again, slowly unfolding the slip of paper. "Jay Royal!"

But just as Jay started to stand up, ready to accept his position, Hadrian placed a hand on his shoulder. "I volunteer."

Jay opened his mouth, as if about to protest, but thought better of it. Hadrian gave Jay's shoulder a gentle squeeze before taking his place beside Aelin and holding out his hand. Aelin shook it firmly, and the two turned towards the crowd for a moment. But there was none of the usual cheering. None of the usual excitement.

Everything was going to be different this year.

As soon as the cameras switched off, Genesis glanced at the other Victors, wondering who else would be joining her as a mentor. She had mentored both Hadrian and Aelin during their Games, but Aelin had already asked her to mentor this time. Still, Hadrian had his pick of the other five.

But, to her surprise, he simply turned to Jay. "Do you think your wife would mind if I borrowed you for a few weeks?"

Jay shook his head. "It's the least I can do."

That much was true, at least. Hadrian had probably just saved his life. Jay would have had as good a chance as anyone in the Games, of course. He was young. Strong. But only one Victor was going to make it out alive again. And now he didn't have to worry about it being him.

And neither did she.

* * *

 **Aelin Kuang, 60  
** **Victor of the 33** **rd** **Hunger Games**

She had told them.

Aelin shook her head as her sister, niece, and nephews left the room. They had been quiet. Frightened. Trying not to cry. Just like her husband. Once they were gone, Aelin rolled her eyes and let out a deep sigh. She had _told_ them she was planning to volunteer. Hadn't they been listening?

Or had they simply thought she wouldn't go through with it?

Aelin drummed her fingers restlessly on her chair. She wasn't expecting anyone else. And her closest friend would be joining her in the Capitol, anyway. Genesis had gotten her through the Games once. They had been a perfect team back then. Why shouldn't they be able to do it again?

It would be just like old times.

Old times. She, Genesis, and Sybil had been thick as thieves back then. The three of them had won in a span of only eight years. They had been inseparable – working at the academy together, mentoring together.

What had happened?

Somewhere along the line, they had lost something. The spark that had held them together. Now they were just three old Victors amid a growing crowd of newer, younger, more exciting ones. The Capitol didn't really care what happened to them – or so it appeared.

But she had figured it out – the real reason for the Quell. The Capitol _did_ care. They were giving her another chance – her and any other Victor who was brave enough to take the opportunity. Another chance at glory. Another taste of the spotlight. A chance to go back, to do it all over again.

And for that, she would risk anything.

* * *

 **Hadrian Xiao, 49  
** **Victor of the 43** **rd** **Hunger Games**

He hadn't told them.

Hadrian watched silently as his daughters left the room. He hadn't told them – or their mother – what he had been planning to do. He hadn't even wanted to admit it to himself – that, no matter whose name had been drawn, the result would have been the same.

But the fact that it was Jay had made it easier. He couldn't have stood to lose any of them – any of the people who had become his family over the years – but Jay would have been the worst. He was young – the youngest of them. He had a wife. Two sons.

Two sons who would actually miss him.

Hadrian shook his head. His daughters would miss him, of course – in their own way. But they were older. They were training as Careers themselves. They loved him, but in a way that was almost distant. He was more of an icon to them than a father.

No, his fellow Victors were his real family. And Jay, the one tribute he had succeeded in brining home – Hadrian couldn't lose him. Not now. Not like this. Not to this Quell. A Quell the Capitol had no right to enact.

He couldn't stop them, of course. Not completely. But he could stop them from killing someone he loved. He could stop them from killing Jay. He couldn't save all their lives – the other Victors. But he could save someone. He could save one person. One person whose life he cared about more than his own.

And, for that, he would risk anything.

* * *

" _Every great decision creates ripples, like a huge boulder dropped in a lake. The ripples merge and rebound off the banks in unforeseeable ways. The heavier the decision, the larger the waves, the more uncertain the consequences."_


	5. District Two: Mirror

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to, as usual, keep an eye out for potential allies as we go through the reapings. I already have a few alliances in mind, but input is always welcome and helpful.

Thank you to _bobothebear_ and _Deuce Ex Machina_ for Freya and Demetrius, respectively, and to _Jms2_ for Avery.

* * *

 **District Two  
** **Mirror**

* * *

 **Sherman Bester, 89  
** **Victor of the 2** **nd** **Hunger Games**

Maybe it was only a matter of time.

Sherman sighed as people slowly began to fill the district square. As usual, he had been the first to arrive. He had always preferred the emptiness of the square before the crowds began to arrive for the reaping. It reminded him of the way things used to be. Before the Games became something to be celebrated. Before the Careers. Back when arriving for the reaping was something to be postponed as long as possible.

But that attitude, that overwhelming aura of dread, was long gone. Even the announcement of the Quell had done nothing to dampen people's spirits. Aside from a few prospective Careers whose dreams of Victory had been cast aside, the people of District Two were excited. Eager, even. Convinced that certainly two of their beloved Victors would be thirsty for another shot at the Games.

But Sherman had a feeling they were in for a disappointment. District Two had nine living Victors – five male and four female. He had mentored five of them. He knew each of them. And there were very few scenarios he could imagine that would prompt any of them to volunteer for the Games a second time.

He certainly had no intention of volunteering himself. He had already fought for his district once – though not by his own choosing. In more than seventy years since then, he had brought home six Victors – five of whom were still alive and well. He had been instrumental in founding the first Career Academy as a memorial to the one who wasn't. He had served as an instructor there for well over five decades. He still served as a mentor at every opportunity.

He had done enough for District Two. For Panem. He had earned the right to live the rest of his life in peace. If he was simply unlucky enough to be chosen again, then that was that. But he certainly wasn't going to volunteer to die – not when there were plenty of younger Victors who would actually stand a chance of coming out alive again.

It was someone else's turn to be the hero.

Sherman watched as the other Victors slowly began to arrive. Adashe, the first tribute he had brought home – only seven years after his own victory. Azalea, District Two's first Career Victor. Bernice. Bardolph. Barnabas and his younger brother, Demetrius. Avery, District Two's newest Victor.

Freya arrived last of all, alongside her sister, brother-in-law, and niece. He rarely saw her now that she had moved out of her house in Victors' Village to live with her sister. But she still smiled as she took a seat beside him. Sherman smiled back, but he already knew it looked forced. None of them were happy to be here.

None of them.

Maybe not even District Two's escort, Clarent Zaccharin, who took the stage with none of his usual flourish. This wasn't a celebration. It was a reminder. _A reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol._

Sherman could still hear the words. They were almost as haunting as the day the Hunger Games had first been announced, all those years ago. No one had fully realized then what the Games would come to mean. Just as no one could fully comprehend what the loss of twenty-three Victors would do to the districts.

Clarent smiled – but almost apologetically – as he made his way to the first reaping bowl and reached in. Slowly, he drew out a single slip of paper, unfolded it, and read the name. "Freya Basnett!"

Somewhere in the crowd, there was a cry. Murmurs. But no one moved. No one did anything. Slowly, Freya stood up, trembling a little. Sherman glanced at the other three female Victors. Azalea and Bernice looked away. Avery shifted uncomfortably in her chair. But none of them stepped forward.

Freya clearly didn't expect them to, either. She stepped forward beside Clarent without any complaint. No tears. No fuss. Not when they all knew it wouldn't do any good.

Clarent slowly made his way to the other reaping bowl. Sherman took a deep breath. One of those five slips held his name. Two words could send him back into the arena again – this time, never to return. Reluctantly, Clarent reached in and drew a slip of paper. "Barnabas Ashworth!"

But the name had barely left Clarent's mouth before a cry of, "I volunteer!" rang through the square. Demetrius stood up quickly, taking his brother's place before anyone else could – or perhaps before his brother could object.

Sherman nodded. That was one of the scenarios. One of the few things that could have prompted a volunteer from District Two this year. Barnabas scowled, shook his head at his younger brother, and stormed off the stage before anyone could say another word.

No one made a move to stop him. Demetrius simply turned to Freya and offered his hand. Freya shook it, and the pair turned towards the crowd. Demetrius raised his arms, and was immediately greeted with cheers. Maybe he wasn't eager to be going back into the arena, but he could at least play the part.

And maybe that was all he would need. He was still young, still strong and fit almost twenty years after his own Games. While Barnabas had withdrawn from the rest of the district, Demetrius had thrown himself back in with a passion, training prospective Careers and mentoring alongside Sherman. He had as good a chance as any – and maybe better than most. If one of them had to go back into the Games, maybe he was the best choice.

But Freya…

Sherman leaned on his cane for support as he made his way to Freya's side. "With your permission, I'll be your mentor again."

Freya couldn't hide her surprise. Regardless of who the other mentor was, Sherman had seniority. He could choose whichever tribute he wanted. And he had picked her over Demetrius. Her eyes betrayed the question she didn't want to ask in front of the others: _Why?_

Sherman smiled a little. There would be time for that later. For now, Freya simply nodded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He turned to Demetrius. "Do you think your brother—?"

Demetrius shook his head. "I don't think so." Still recovering from his own Games, Barnabas had refused to mentor his brother the first time. Why should this time be any different?

Sherman turned to their youngest Victor. "Then I think it's your turn, Avery."

It was no such thing, of course. There was no established order for mentoring. The job usually fell to Sherman and Demetrius. But since Demetrius would be otherwise occupied…

Avery shrugged. "Why not?"

Sherman smiled a little. _That's the spirit._ If nothing else, it might make a good impression on the people in the Capitol. District Two's oldest Victor and their youngest – working together to bring a tribute home. It was a good image.

And, in the Games, image could make all the difference.

* * *

 **Freya Basnett, 44  
** **Victor of the 47** **th** **Hunger Games**

"You have to come back."

Freya struggled to hold back her tears as she wrapped her arms around her niece, Maisie. Beside her on the couch, her sister Nadalia and brother-in-law Oren sat supportively on either side. "You can do this," Nadalia said gently. "You did it once."

 _A long time ago._ Back when she was still young and eager, with so much to prove. But that girl was gone. That chapter of her life was over. She had closed it herself, deliberately, so many years ago. To have to open it up again…

"Just be careful," Oren offered. "Stay close to the other Careers, and—"

"No." She was almost surprised by how quickly the word came, but, as soon as she said it, she was certain. Twenty years ago, maybe. Maybe she could have pretended. Maybe then it would even have been real – the fire, the drive, the thirst for glory. But that wasn't her. Not anymore.

And it certainly wasn't the image she wanted to leave her family with.

Nadalia nodded a little, understanding. She always understood. That one word was all she had needed to hear; the message was clear. "Then stay close to Sherman," she suggested. "He got you through this once. And he's been mentoring longer than … well, anyone."

That was true. But even Sherman, who had brought home six Victors, usually came home empty-handed. He had brought her home once. She had fought hard enough, been strong enough, gotten lucky enough once.

Could she really get that lucky again?

Freya hugged Maisie close one last time, and, as she did, she slipped off one of her niece's pink-and-yellow butterfly earrings. "Can I borrow this?" she asked as cheerfully as she could. As if she was another schoolgirl asking to borrow her best friend's jewelry to play dress-up. Maisie nodded eagerly, finally managing a smile.

Freya stroked Maisie's cheek gently. Maisie's smile. Nadalia's encouragement. Oren's strength. That was what she wanted to remember – not the false promise of glory that had driven her once. _This_ was what she wanted to come back to.

 _This_ was the image she would hold onto.

* * *

 **Demetrius Ashworth, 37  
** **Victor of the 56** **th** **Hunger Games**

He had as good a chance as anyone.

Demetrius smiled as his wife Vivian and their son Philemon entered the room. Philemon immediately rushed over and threw his arms around his father. "You saved Uncle Barnabas!"

Vivian smiled a little. "That was very brave of him, wasn't it?" But there was something else in her tone. Something that was almost a reprimand. How dare he put his life on the line to save a brother who wouldn't even come to say goodbye? How dare he put his brother's needs over those of his wife and child?

But she didn't say it. Not in front of Philemon. And certainly not when they both knew that he'd made the right choice. No one else would have volunteered. And Barnabas would never have made it out of the Games a second time. Since his own victory, Barnabas had been an outspoken opponent of the Games. The Capitol would never have allowed him to survive again.

Demetrius, on the other hand, had done his best to be the sort of Victor that both the Capitol and the districts wanted. He hadn't turned to drugs or alcohol. He was happily married. He was an instructor at the academy and mentored as often as he could. The district looked up to him. They believed in him. His family believed in him.

Maybe that was all he needed.

Demetrius ruffled Philemon's hair a little. "That's right. Take care of Uncle Barnabas until I get back." It would take more than a three-year-old boy to help Barnabas, of course. But when he returned a second time, maybe his brother would finally understand. Maybe they could truly be a family again.

Maybe.

Demetrius wrapped his arms around Vivian and Philemon. Soon enough, he would be back. He had made it through the Games once. He could do it again. For them. For Barnabas. For that chance – the chance that they could be a family again. Together.

 _That_ was the image he would hold onto.

* * *

" _It all just disappears, doesn't it? Everything you are, gone in a moment, like breath on a mirror."_


	6. District Three: The Next Lion

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Thank you to _Acereader55_ and _Jael . Rice . 1_ for Wisteria and Euclid, respectively, and to _pagepetals_ for Magnus.

* * *

 **District Three  
** **The Next Lion**

* * *

 **Hypatia Merle, 67  
** **Victor of the 23** **rd** **Hunger Games**

None of them would escape the Games this year.

Hypatia shook her head as she slowly made her way out of her house and headed for the one next door, ready to collect her fellow Victors. Well, not 'ready.' Not really. She had mentored for more than fifty years, but she still wasn't ready for this. None of them were.

But none of them would be spared this year. District Three had four Victors. Just four. Two tributes. Two mentors. All four of them would be going to the Capitol. And, at best, only three would return.

At best. Hypatia sighed as she knocked gently on Magnus' door. She wasn't kidding herself. The odds were never truly in District Three's favor, but they would be even less so this year. While other districts had built up their reputations as fighters, the only things District Three had a solid reputation for were intelligence, patience, and sheer dumb luck.

And now more than ever, the Capitol wouldn't want to see intelligence. They wouldn't want to be patient. And they certainly wouldn't stand for a Victor – especially a Victor of a Quarter Quell – to simply be lucky enough to get through the Games again. They would be looking for a fighter. Ruthless. Cunning. A Victor without sympathy or remorse.

She was none of those things. She never had been. She had been clever, yes, but never cunning. Efficient, but never ruthless. And she had never been cruel. She had been patient. And she had been lucky.

Neither of those things would save her if she was reaped again.

It took several minutes of knocking before Magnus answered the door, muttering unintelligibly about some sort of experiment. Hypatia smiled fondly as he tried to coax her inside to have a look at his latest invention, but shook her head firmly, insisting that they had to go.

"Later," she promised, knowing full well she might not be able to keep that promise. "I'll have a look at it later." Later. After the Capitol. After the Games. If they were both still alive, she would let him bend her ear about whatever sort of invention he wanted. Anything to keep his mind off what was about to happen.

Euclid was in an even worse state, pacing back and forth in front of the door when she arrived, as if he had been waiting for her. "I can't go back," he muttered, shaking his head emphatically when he saw her. "I can't. I won't."

Hypatia nodded. "All right. All right, then. Let's just get to the square. Can you do that, Euclid?"

Euclid hesitated for a moment, but then took her hand and nodded. Hypatia gave his hand a squeeze, the only comfort she could offer. One of the two – either Magnus or Euclid – would be going back into the arena. She couldn't promise safety to either. All she could do was offer her support.

Hypatia took a deep breath as they approached Wisteria's house. Wisteria answered the door immediately. Silently. She simply nodded and joined their little group. No protest. Not a word of worry or complaint. Hypatia smiled a little, acknowledging Wisteria's restraint. She was trying, in her own way, to be strong.

But no sort of strength would save any of them now.

Magnus or Euclid. Wisteria or herself. There were no good choices. There was no right answer. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. But there was nothing any of them could do about it. Nothing they could do to save each other. Nothing they could do to save themselves.

Hypatia swallowed hard, fighting back the lump in her throat. She had already saved each of them once. She had mentored all three of the others. Three small victories amid years of failures. To lose any of them now…

But she would. And the worst part was, the tributes' deaths would come at the hands of other Victors. People who, over the years, had become their friends. Their family, even. To force them to kill each other was inhumane.

She kept those thoughts to herself, of course. There would be no point in voicing them now. The decision had been made. The Capitol wouldn't back down. Not if they all protested, pleaded, begged. Maybe the Capitol even wanted them to. Wanted to make them beg for their lives, only to deny them in the end.

Hypatia clung tightly to Euclid and Wisteria's hands. None of them would give the Capitol that pleasure. They wouldn't beg. They wouldn't cry. No matter what happened in the square, they were Victors. And the Capitol could never take that away.

Finally, the four of them reached the square and took the stage together. Hypatia managed a smile as she glanced out at the crowd. At least one good thing had come from this terrible Quell: Everyone in the crowd was safe. She wouldn't have to watch any children take their places onstage. She might lose one or even two of her friends – or even her own life – but the children of District Three were safe for a year.

Maybe that should have made her feel better. But it didn't. It didn't lessen the feeling of dread as District Three's escort, Marisol Hastings, took her place onstage, trying to look excited. But Hypatia knew better. Marisol had been assigned to District Three during the second Quarter Quell and had never left. She had been at Hypatia's side during Euclid's victory, and then Wisteria's. The idea of losing one or even both of them clearly weighed heavily on her.

But she still did her job. She smiled and gave her little speech. Because it was expected. Because it was what the Capitol wanted. And because giving the Capitol what they wanted might just help bring one of their Victors home again.

Hypatia braced herself as Marisol approached the first bowl, which held only two slips of paper. One with her name, one with Wisteria's. Slowly, Marisol chose one of the slips, unfolded it, and read the name. "Wisteria Cassava!"

Hypatia heard Wisteria inhale sharply, but, after only a moment, she stood and took her place, her fists tightly clenched at her side. Silent. Unquestioning. Obedient. No protest, no complaint, no drama. _Don't give them what they want._

Marisol glanced at Wisteria, then nodded towards the microphone, silently offering to let her say something. Wisteria shook her head. No words. There were no right words for something like this. There was nothing to be said. Nothing to be done.

Except what had to be done next. Without another word, Marisol made her way to the second bowl. Hypatia tensed. She was safe. But which of her friends was about to be sent back to fight for his life? Marisol reached into the bowl again – a little quicker this time. Maybe she wanted this over with as much as they did. But the sooner it was over with, the sooner they would be on their way…

"Euclid Hoover!"

Magnus' sigh of relief was quickly drowned out by a scream from Euclid. "No! No, that can't be right! You can't! You can't make me go back! It was the wrong name! It had to be the wrong name!" Before Hypatia could do anything to stop him, he rushed at Marisol. Marisol stepped back, startled, but Euclid only grabbed the paper from her hands, holding it close, his hands shaking. "No," he whispered, dropping to his knees. "No, it can't be. I can't go back."

Hypatia quickly made her way to Euclid's side and wrapped an arm around his trembling shoulders, nodding to Marisol to turn the cameras off. Mercifully, the escort did as she was instructed, leaving the four Victors alone onstage.

Wisteria glanced sympathetically at Euclid, who was now curled up in a heap, trembling and weeping. But it was all Wisteria could do to keep from crying herself. Magnus was still in his chair, muttering something about the probability of both younger Victors being chosen, that maybe the reapings were rigged, after all.

Hypatia shook her head, but, finally, her curiosity got the better of her. Slowly, she stood up and collected the other two slips of paper from the reaping bowls. Sure enough, her name was on one, Magnus' on the other. They'd had as much of a chance as Euclid and Wisteria; they had simply been lucky.

Finally, Magnus stopped mumbling long enough to join them. "So, who's with who? Whom? Whom. Whom," he finally decided. "Who's with whom?" Then he answered his own question. "I think I'll take Euclid."

Hypatia nodded agreeably. More often than not, she simply ended up mentoring both tributes, anyway. Magnus hadn't mentored in years – not since Euclid's victory – and Euclid's third year of mentoring had been the year Wisteria had won. Since then, it had been the two of them – Hypatia and Wisteria – mentoring together, but Wisteria usually followed Hypatia's lead, trying to avoid as much of the Capitol festivities as possible.

But none of them would be able to avoid it this time, Hypatia reminded herself as Euclid and Wisteria were led to the justice building and she and Magnus made their way to the train. Four of them were leaving. Two or three would return. But none of them would remain untouched.

And nothing in District Three would ever be the same.

* * *

 **Wisteria Cassava, 34  
** **Victor of the 58** **th** **Hunger Games**

She couldn't give them what they wanted.

Wisteria paced back and forth silently as the small clock in the corner of the room ticked away the seconds. The seconds that would pass by while she waited here. Alone. Just waiting.

No one was coming – that much, she was sure of. She hadn't spoken to anyone in her family in years. She barely spoke to her fellow Victors. Sometimes, she would talk to Hypatia. Usually during the Games, when they were both mentoring. When she really had no choice but to interact with her fellow Victors.

The rest of the year, she spent most of her time alone. It was better that way. Being alone was safer. It had been safer during the Games, and it would be safer now.

And now, she was almost grateful for it. Grateful that she hadn't formed strong ties with any of her fellow Victors – with the exception of Hypatia, whom she wouldn't be facing in the Games. Because now, they would have to fight each other. They would have to kill each other.

It would be harder on the others. The ones who had been mentoring for a long time, the ones who had gotten to know the other Victors better. She barely knew Euclid, and they were from the same district. The Victors from the other districts – they were mostly strangers. And it was always easier to kill strangers. Always easier to watch strangers die.

It had been easier during her own Games, as well. The two kills she had made herself had been easier than watching her district partner – her only ally – die in the bloodbath at the hands of the girl from One. She had cried for days, wrapping herself in her grief, using it as a shield to block out the rest of the Games.

But now she couldn't. She wouldn't. The Capitol wanted to see a reaction from the Victors – any reaction. Grief. Anger. Despair. Hatred. She would give them nothing. Nothing but the silence. That was all they had ever earned from her.

She was done playing their Game.

* * *

 **Euclid Hoover, 32  
** **Victor of the 55** **th** **Hunger Games**

He couldn't go back.

Euclid buried his face in his sleeves, trying to stop himself from crying. But he couldn't. He couldn't stop. He hadn't been able to stop crying twenty years ago, when he had been reaped. He had been convinced – as had his district – that he had no chance.

But he had won. Somehow. Sometimes, he wasn't quite sure what had gotten him through. Other times, he wasn't sure he _had_ gotten through. Oh, he was alive – that much was certain. But how much of himself had he left in that arena? How much of himself could he lose before he wasn't really Euclid anymore? How much of him was really left?

The door creaked open a little, and Euclid leapt up immediately. It couldn't be time to go yet. They couldn't take him. They wouldn't—

But it wasn't Peacekeepers at the door. It was his old friend and housemaid, Edie, and her husband Gammen. Edie threw her arms around Euclid without hesitation, and Gammen immediately joined them.

"It's not fair," Edie whispered. "What they're doing. What they're making you do. It's not fair – none of it."

Euclid knew he should say something. Something that would make her feel better. Something reassuring. Something along the lines of, _Well, that's just the way things are_.

But he couldn't. Because she was right. It _wasn't_ fair. And maybe … maybe there was no shame in admitting that. Maybe there was nothing wrong with feeling angry and scared and furious at the Capitol for ruining whatever was rest of his life.

He had every right to be angry. He had every right to cry. Maybe his emotions weren't going to win him any favors from the sponsors. But they weren't exactly lining up to sponsor tributes from District Three in the first place. What did he have to lose?

Not much. Not much that he hadn't already lost. His emotions – those were one of the few things he had left. One of the few things that were really, truly his.

And he wasn't about to let the Capitol take them, too.

* * *

" _He doesn't have to outrun the lion, only his friend. Then the lion catches up with his friend and eats him. The strong survive, the weak are killed: the law of the jungle! ... Yes, very clever, if you don't mind losing your friend. But what happens when the next lion turns up?"_


	7. District Four: Pretend

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to keep an eye out for allies as we go through the reapings, and PM me if you see a good match (either for your tribute or another alliance you'd like to see).

Thank you to _Tear That Cherry Out_ and _MornieGalad Baggins_ for Cedra and Galen, respectively, and to _TitanMaddix_ for Elias.

* * *

 **District Four  
** **Pretend**

* * *

 **Amari Maclure, 77  
** **Victor of the 16** **th** **Hunger Games**

"I suppose it's time to get up."

Amari smiled a little, rolling over underneath the blankets and finally opening her eyes. Galen was already getting out of the bed. Always on the move. Always ready to go, even though he was only eleven years her junior. He smiled reassuringly, his warm brown eyes offering one last moment of comfort and security.

False security, of course. He couldn't protect her, just as she couldn't protect him. But for a moment, they could pretend. For a moment, they could forget.

Which was what had brought them together last night. Galen wasn't her usual fling – and she knew she wasn't his – but, in the moment, it had felt so right. Two Victors, looking for a distraction. Hoping to forget what had happened, what was happening … what was about to happen.

Forgetting what had happened in her own Games, of course, wasn't usually a stretch. Her arena had been a winery, and, with the only sustenance in the arena being the alcohol provided, she – as well as most of the other tributes – had spent the majority of her Games drunk as a fish.

No, it was the present she wanted to forget. The fact that she might be called upon to face the arena again – this time, without the benefit of intoxication. Slowly, Amari slipped out of bed and donned a simple blue-grey dress. Galen's outfit, too, was simple – a dark red tunic, breeches, and cape. No point in getting all dressed up. They could leave that to the younger Victors.

Still, she didn't object as Galen softly brushed her hair before planting a kiss on her cheek and wrapping her in a gentle embrace. His arms were warm and strong – just as they had been the night before. But now, they seemed to offer a little less protection. The night was fading, and, with it, their dream of security.

Amari shook the thought from her head. The night wasn't just fading; it was gone. The light outside should have alerted them to the time, but they'd been so comfortable…

"Amari!" A voice, outside the door. Cedra, from the sound of it. Frantic and uncertain – which wasn't surprising, really, given what was about to happen. But, still…

"Come in!" Amari called back, and, sure enough, Cedra burst through the door. "What is it?" Amari asked, startled by the look of panic on the younger Victor's face.

"It's Ishmael! Murray sent me around to make sure all the Victors made it to the square on time – you know how some of them can be – but I can't find Ishmael anywhere, and it's almost time for—What's so funny?!"

Amari glanced at Galen, who was laughing almost uncontrollably as Ishmael poked his head out from under the covers. "What's all the shouting about?" the older man slurred.

Cedra blushed a little. "I'm sorry. I … I didn't mean to—"

Galen smirked. "Don't sweat it, Cedra. I'll make sure he gets to the square on time."

"Then you'd better hurry."

Amari nodded. "You, too. We'll see you there." Cedra turned and hurried out the door. Amari giggled a little as she left. She had almost forgotten Ishmael was there. He had wandered in drunk the night before, and neither she nor Galen had the heart to ask him to leave. So Galen had invited him to join them.

It was a night she wouldn't forget anytime soon.

Before long, the three of them were on their feet and on their way to the square, with Galen leading the way. Most of the other Victors were already onstage by the time they arrived – and, in fact, it was a few minutes past the hour already – but their escort, Luther Palleschi, was used to waiting. This was District Four; there were usually one or two Victors trickling in at the last minute. Deadlines simply didn't have the same meaning here as they did in the other districts, or in the Capitol. Things moved more slowly in District Four.

But they always seemed to get the job done. And the job would get done again this year, regardless of how many Victors were flirting with the exact time they were supposed to arrive for the reaping. They could delay the inevitable a little, but they couldn't prevent it. Two of them were going back into the Games.

Two out of nine. Nine Victors – and all of them still alive. Four male, five female. She couldn't really ask for much better odds than that – even among the other Career districts. This was about as good as it could get.

Galen seemed to share her sentiment, greeting each of the Victors in turn, wishing them luck. Some got a pat on the back, some a handshake, and some a big bear hug. Whichever each of them seemed to need. Amari smiled a little as she took her seat next to Cedra after receiving yet another warm embrace from Galen. They were about as ready as they could be.

And so was Luther, who received a pat on the back so forceful that Amari was sure it was going to knock him off the stage. He recovered quickly, though, and threw his arms around Galen, wishing him the best of luck.

Then he turned back towards the crowd, grinning. "Well, that was certainly a welcome worth waiting for! Thank you, Galen, and thank you, District Four! It's wonderful to be back again – truly, it is. And these Games – they're going to be the best ever! Am I right, District Four?"

Cheers and applause rose immediately from the crowd. Amari smiled. How much of the applause was genuine, and how much of it was because it was what the audience in the Capitol would expect from a Career district, she wasn't sure. District Four had always been good at pretending. Pretending to be as vicious, as bloodthirsty, as One and Two, when, in reality, only the most recent four of their nine Victors could properly be called Careers.

But pretending had been enough to get her through her own Games, and enough to help her bring Galen home. Maybe it would be enough to get one of them through the Games again.

But only one. No matter what they did, no matter what they said, no matter how much they pretended otherwise, one of the people onstage now was going to die soon. Maybe two. Maybe her.

Amari braced herself as Luther dipped his hand into the first bowl. Five names. Cedra, who had returned from her Games only four years ago. Ryleigh, District Four's first Career, who had since moved on and was now expecting her second grandchild. Felicity, who had managed to make peace with her own Games and ran one of the largest orphanages in the district. Misty, who was now nearly blind and almost completely deaf.

And her. Amari. What would they say about her, if she was the one who was reaped? If she was the one who died? What would they remember about her?

"Cedra Devere!"

Amari let out a silent sigh of relief before glancing over at Cedra, who was frozen in her seat. But only for a moment. Before anyone could react, District Four's youngest Victor leapt up, raced down the stairs, and took off through the crowd. The Peacekeepers, unprepared, didn't react as quickly as they should have. She almost made it to the edge of the crowd before they caught up with her.

Cedra was crying as they dragged her back to the stage. "No. No, please. Please, someone else. Anyone else. Please." Her eyes darted from one Victor to another, pleading. Begging one of them to take her place.

Amari looked away. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to send her back into the Games after only four years. Maybe someone should volunteer.

But who? Her? Misty? Felicity? Ryleigh? None of them deserved to face the Games again. There were no good options. Maybe Cedra was as good a choice as any of them. At least she was still young and strong.

But that wouldn't be enough to make up for the scene she had just caused. District Four hadn't had a tribute who had cried since … well, she wasn't sure, exactly, but certainly since the Career system had taken root, almost forty years ago. District Four had been spoiled since then. Their tributes had been willing. Eager. Prepared.

This year would be different.

Once it was clear that no one was going to take Cedra's place, Luther proceeded to the next bowl, hoping for a better reaction from the male tribute. He was almost certain to get one, of course. In his hungover state, Ishmael probably wouldn't even realize what was happening until he was already on the train. Elias would want to hold himself together for the sake of his children. Murray and Galen … well, there was no telling what either of them would do, but she was pretty certain it wouldn't involve crying.

"Galen Archer!"

 _Shit._ For one terrible moment, Amari thought she might have said it out loud. She wasn't sure whose name she had been hoping to hear, but Galen … Why did it have to be him?

Galen, however, didn't seem the least bit concerned – or even surprised. He leapt to his feet, swiped the microphone from Luther's hands, and turned his grin towards Cedra, who had finally managed to stand. "Well, what do you know? The Capitol liked us so much the first time around, they want us back!" He fixed an arm around her shoulders, turning back towards the crowd. "Well, then, we'll be sure to give them a show they'll never forget! Let's hear it, District Four!"

More cheers – louder, this time. Galen tossed the microphone back to Luther and pulled Cedra in tighter. "Nothing to worry about, kiddo," he said softly. "These Quell things aren't as bad as they're cracked up to be. Take it from one of the two folks who's actually won one."

 _Fifty years ago._ So much had changed since then. District Four had changed. The Games had changed. In some ways, Galen had changed, as well.

But, in other ways, he hadn't. Somewhere beneath the charm and the laughter was the boy whose own district had voted him into the Games. The boy who had won the First Quarter Quell. The only tribute she had brought home.

"Amari?"

Amari looked up to see Galen standing beside her. Had he been asking her a question? "Yes?"

"I asked if you'd do me the honor of mentoring me again. It worked out pretty well last time."

Mentor. Again. Amari hesitated. She hadn't mentored in years. Decades. Not since the first Quarter Quell, in fact. Not since Galen had taken her place. But how could she refuse? Amari nodded. "Of course I will."

"Then it looks like it's you and Elias."

Amari glanced over at Elias, who was trying to console Cedra. From the look of it, it wasn't working, but the fact that he was trying probably meant the job was his.

One by one, the others left. Peacekeepers came for Galen and Cedra, who headed for the Justice Building together, Galen half-carrying his district partner. Amari nodded to Elias. For a moment, they simply stood there, relieved. Relieved that their own names hadn't been called. Whatever happened in the next few weeks, they weren't going back into the arena.

And, for a moment, they could pretend that was enough.

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 21  
** **Victor of the 71** **st** **Hunger Games**

How could they pretend to be okay with this?

Cedra tried her best to choke back her tears as her mother entered the room. But, no matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn't. It wasn't fair. Four years ago, she had wanted to be in the Games. Or, at least, she had _thought_ she wanted to. But now – now that she knew better – they were forcing her back.

And, worse, they were all pretending it was all right. _Fun_ , even. The escort, Luther. Galen. Even Elias. All of them seemed to think that it was going to be okay. That it was just a game.

She could understand that from the crowd. Even the audience in the Capitol. But her fellow Victors – if anyone should know better, it was them. How could they pretend to go along with this?

Cedra buried her face in her mother's dress as the two of them held each other tightly, doing their best to comfort each other. But there was no comfort – not really – not even in each other's arms. Her mother couldn't protect her from the Games.

Cedra blinked the tears from her eyes. Her mother had always been there for her. She had supported her while she was training and had accepted her decision to volunteer for the Games. And when Cedra had returned, her mother had been there. Comforting her when her nightmares got the better of her. Listening when she needed someone to talk to – or someone to scream at. Helping her rebuild what was left of her life.

But all of that was gone now – everything she had fought so hard to rebuild. Gone in an instant, like one of the sand castles she had built on the shore as a child. The first Games had swept everything away, but she had rebuilt. Slowly, carefully, and much farther from the waves. She had assumed she was safe. That the Games couldn't hurt her again.

She was wrong. She had always been wrong. The Games had found her. They always would. Maybe she had been a fool to think otherwise. The Games had taken hold of her life years ago.

And they would never let go.

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **Victor of the 25** **th** **Hunger Games**

"How can you pretend to be okay with this?"

Galen let out a small smile, leaning back in his chair as Storm continued to fume. Her two older sisters, Tahiri and Kaede – well, half-sisters, but who was counting? – stood behind her, silently backing up everything she had said. Storm's mother, Nimweh, sat nearby, shaking her head. Vladmir and Lucia, his young lovers, sat at Galen's right and left, holding him tightly. Vladmir was crying, while Lucia was nodding in silent agreement with Storm.

Maybe letting everyone come say goodbye to him at once hadn't been such a good idea. Maybe it was a bit chaotic. But he had never shied away from chaos before.

Not that he had ever shied away from _anything_ , really – a fact that had gotten him through the Games the first time around. While so many of the other tributes were crying and moping and asking why their districts had voted for _them_ , of all people, he had moved on. His district had confidence that he could win; that was all he'd needed to know.

And maybe that was all he needed now – their confidence, their support. After all, he had made it through the Games once. Why couldn't he do it again?

And what choice did he have but to try?

Galen finally managed to disentangle himself from Vladmir and Lucia, making his way to his daughter's side. "I'm not pretending, Storm," he said gently. "I _am_ okay with this. I know you wanted to volunteer this year, but—"

"It's not _about_ that!" Storm insisted. And it wasn't. She'd been as disappointed as any of the other eighteen-year-olds when the twist had been announced, but she hadn't reacted like this. Not until it was clear that it was _his_ life that was in danger.

"I know," Galen nodded. "I know. But think about it. Why were _you_ going to volunteer? Because you know you can win, right?" Storm nodded. "Well, I know the same thing. Hell, I've already won once. What better assurance that I can do it again?"

"But _everyone_ this year has already won once," Storm pointed out.

She was right, of course. But there was no way to change that. So there was no point in dwelling on it. "Then it'll be even more fun," Galen answered simply, giving Storm's shoulder a friendly punch.

Finally, Storm cracked a bit of a smile. And that was enough. Even if he didn't make it back, she would be all right – as long as she remembered to smile every now and then.

Sometimes the best thing – the only thing – to do was let go.

* * *

" _I lied to you, 'cause I liked it. I could pretend, just for a bit. I could imagine…"_


	8. District Five: Plan

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Thank you to _BamItsTyler_ and _ZJB3_ for Shyanne and Valion, respectively, and to _Lazy Owl10_ for Rufus.

* * *

 **District Five  
** **Plan**

* * *

 **Rufus Knox, 40  
** **Victor of the 51** **st** **Hunger Games**

His plan was already in motion.

Rufus paced back and forth in front of the screen as the reapings in District Four ended in a clamor of cheers and excitement. It was most of a plan, at least. Half a plan, certainly. Part of a plan. Enough to convince the others that he had a plan. Or at least that he was pretending to have a plan.

It certainly didn't seem like anyone _else_ had one.

He had spent the morning watching the reapings. Most of the other Victors seemed content to go along with everything the Capitol was doing. A few had resorted to crying or running. Certainly nothing of any substance.

Even the tiny bit of a plan that he had was better than that.

Because he had no intention of going quietly. He had no doubt, of course, that it would be him going back into the Games. This whole Quell had been arranged to deal with Victors like him. Victors who wouldn't keep quiet, who wouldn't stay in their place, but who couldn't be summarily executed because they hadn't _technically_ done anything wrong.

There was nothing wrong, after all, with writing a book. A series of memoirs. It had simply been his own memories of the Games – both his Games and his sister's Games. His sister, Barbara, whom he had been unable to save twenty-three years ago when she had been reaped the year following his own victory.

Maybe he deserved to go back in.

Rufus shook the thought from his head. No one deserved this. No one. That was the point. But the other Victors seemed content to sit back and take it. The ones who were going back into the Games were worried that any hint of rebellion might damage their chances of coming out alive again. And the ones who were safe from the Games were simply grateful they hadn't been picked.

And maybe he didn't have a plan. Maybe he didn't have some grand scheme to bring the Games to a halt and take down the Capitol. But he had a start of a plan.

And the start of a plan had always been good enough before.

Rufus nodded to himself and headed for the square, where, instead of taking their places onstage, he and his fellow Victors had spread themselves out through the crowd. It didn't take him long to spot Shyanne, completely surrounded by her fellow orphans, a few of whom now lived under her care in Victors' Village. She always seemed to have one or two of the younger ones following her around, and they trickled in and out of her house on a regular basis. Maybe District Five's youngest Victor was a bit eccentric, but she had become something of a celebrity among the less fortunate of the district.

A little closer to the stage stood Valion, together with his wife, his daughter and her husband, and his three grandchildren. The youngest – twins, Rufus was pretty sure – stood anxiously next to their grandfather, who reached down and gave them a reassuring hug. Rufus could almost hear the older man's voice. _It's all right. Just a little while, and we can all go home._

It was a lie, of course. Only one of them would be going home today. Four of them would be going back to the Capitol – two as tributes, two as mentors.

It took Rufus a little while to spot Audric and Piper at the back of the crowd. Piper was propped up in her wheelchair, with Audric standing behind her, supporting her as she had always supported him. District Five's oldest Victors, the pair of them had won back-to-back Games and married only a few years later. But they'd never had any children, though they treated each of the other Victors as family. If either of them was reaped…

Rufus slipped his hand into Flora's as he took his place by his fiance's side, with his sister Zoe beside them. If Audric or Piper was reaped, it would be terrible. But no more terrible than it would be to tear Valion away from his grandchildren, or to take Shyanne from the orphans who had come to depend on her for their very lives. They all had people they would leave behind. People they loved.

Which had been the reasoning, of course, behind this part of the plan. The Victors in the other districts had been sitting onstage together, as they normally would at a reaping. The cameras – and therefore the audience in the Capitol – had been focused on them and their fellow Victors … not their families. The audience hadn't seen any other reactions.

This time, they would. They would see Audric and Piper holding each other close. They would see Valion's grandchildren. They would see Shyanne's fellow orphans. They would see Zoe and Flora standing beside him. If they were going to tear Victors away from their families, away from the lives they had fought to build for themselves, then they deserved to see what they were truly doing.

Rufus gave Flora's hand a gentle squeeze. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that their actions today would bring the Games to a halt – not yet, at least. No matter what they did now, it wouldn't be enough to stop the reaping.

But it was a start.

It was their way of saying that they wouldn't go quietly. That they were going back into the Games not as Victors, but as tributes. Tributes with lives, with families, with hopes and dreams and futures that had all been shattered in a moment. Maybe it was a little thing.

But it was something.

Rufus took a deep breath as District Five's escort, Marcia Loretti, approached the first reaping bowl, which held only two names. Shyanne or Piper. District Five's youngest Victor or its oldest. It wasn't fair. There was no good choice. No right answer.

Marcia seemed to take ages before choosing a slip of paper. Maybe she didn't want to make the choice, either. To condemn either of them to the Games again. Watching the other four reapings, Rufus could see the events were beginning to take their toll on the escorts. Even in the Career districts, the escorts seemed a bit reluctant. If some of that could rub off on the rest of the Capitol…

"Shyanne James!"

Rufus nodded a little. That made sense. If the Capitol had any say in the matter, which, of course, they did, Shyanne was the logical choice. Who wanted to see an old lady in a wheelchair in the Games when they could watch one of the most recent Victors? A girl who had won at the age of only twelve – the youngest ever by a month or so. From an outside standpoint, she was the better choice.

The children who surrounded her, of course, didn't seem to think so. Immediately, one of them stepped between Shyanne and the Peacekeepers who were making their way towards the teenager. One by one, the others followed his lead, forming a protective shield around Shyanne.

For a moment, the Peacekeepers simply stood there. Unsure. Maybe aware that they were, in fact, being watched by not only the district, but also by everyone in the Capitol. Could they really afford to be seen subduing a crowd of orphaned children? What would the audience think of that?

Rufus smiled a little. If nothing else, it had made them think twice. Maybe it would make some of the audience do the same.

After a moment, however, Shyanne gently moved a few of her protectors aside, making her way through the crowd with a hug here, a pat on the head there. _Perfect_. Nothing outrageous. Nothing outright rebellious. But enough for the audience to remember. Enough, maybe, to stand out. To make a difference.

Shyanne was still smiling as she took her place onstage. Her gaze was fixed on the children she had left, some of whom were still crying. Rufus nodded. _Let them cry. And let the audience see it._

Somewhere along the line, they had lost that – the sadness of it all. The Capitol thrived on the spectacle, while the districts had become almost numb to the Games. Children were taken from their loved ones without tears, without any hint of remorse.

Not this time. Emotion was on their side. Shyanne had only returned form her Games seven years ago, and yet she'd had such a profound impact on the youngest of their district. The audience deserved to see that.

They deserved to see what they were doing.

Rufus braced himself as Marcia approached the second bowl. The bowl that contained his name, Valion's, and Audric's. Rufus gave Flora's hand another squeeze. What was the point? They all knew it was going to be him. They all knew…

"Valion Surge!"

What?

Rufus' gaze flew to where Valion stood near the stage, already disentangling himself from his three grandchildren. That wasn't right. It couldn't be. Ever since the Quell had been announced, he had been sure. He had been absolutely certain that it was going to be him. But it wasn't. He was safe. Unless…

Rufus bit his lip as Valion took the stage, trying not to look back. Trying to be strong, for his family's sake. Rufus' mind raced. He could save him. He could run up there right now, volunteer, and save Valion's life.

But that would mean going back into the Games.

He had thought he was prepared for that. He had been sure that his name would be called. So he had never given any thought to what he might be able to do – what he might be able to accomplish – as a mentor, instead. But now that he had the choice…

Rufus glanced around. At Audric and Piper. At Flora and Zoe. Back to Valion, who was already holding out his hand to Shyanne. Already resigned to his fate. Shyanne ignored his outstretched hand and threw her arms around her old mentor, instead. Valion returned the gesture gratefully.

Rufus shook his head. It was already done. They already made a better pair than he could have hoped. The orphan and the grandfather. They could tug at the Capitol's heartstrings better than anything he could have come up with on his own. All he had to do was let it happen…

And then it was over. The cameras were gone. One by one, people left the square, and Rufus, Audric, and Piper made their way to the stage, Audric wheeling Piper up the ramp in her wheelchair, both obviously relieved but trying not to show it for the Shyanne and Valion's sake.

"Rufus and I should mentor," Audric suggested before anyone else could object. Not that anyone was going to, of course. Piper was in no condition to mentor, and she had more than done her part years ago, bringing both Audric and Rufus home. They owed her this much, at least.

Rufus turned to Valion and Shyanne, waiting for either of them to choose. "Do either of you have a preference about…" Rufus started.

Shyanne shook her head. "It's not going to matter, silly. We're all going to be working together, anyways."

Rufus couldn't help smiling along. "I'll take you, then, if that's all right with Valion and Audric." Both of them nodded easily. Audric had been Valion's mentor the first time around. Maybe it only made sense…

No. None of it made sense. None of this was right. But it was the way things were – for now, at least. Valion and Shyanne were led off to the Justice building hand in hand. Zoe came to get Piper, offering to look after her until Audric returned. Finally, Audric and Rufus were alone onstage.

Only once they were alone did Audric clamp a hand firmly around Rufus' wrist, his grip surprisingly strong for someone his age. "Don't try it," he said firmly.

Rufus looked up, feigning surprise. "Try what?"

"Anything. This little show at the reaping was bad enough, but we all went along with it because it wouldn't technically do any harm – as long as the tributes themselves didn't resist. But this is where it stops – for all our sakes."

"For all our sakes," Rufus repeated. "That's easy for you to say. You're not going back into the Games again—"

"Neither are you," Audric pointed out. "You're safe, Rufus – as long as you don't do anything stupid. Zoe and Flora and Valion's grandchildren and the orphans Shyanne cares for – they're all safe. As long as everything goes as planned."

"As planned. You mean as long as everything goes according to the _Capitol's_ plan."

"Yes, Rufus, that's exactly what I mean." Audric's grip tightened. "I don't like it any more than you do – and I guarantee Valion and Shyanne like it less – but this is the way things are. This is a fight we _cannot_ win. And the sooner you learn that, accept it, and move on, the better."

Rufus clenched his teeth. He had hoped that Audric, of all people, would understand what he was trying to do. How could he just accept it? How could he stand by and do nothing while Valion and Shyanne…?

"Don't." Rufus' eyes met Audric's, and, for a moment, Rufus was facing a younger man. A tribute. The Victor of the eighteenth Hunger Games, whose traps, tricks, and backstabbing had earned him eleven kills – more than any other Victor, including the Careers. His youth was long gone, but the cunning was still there, hiding just behind his friendly smile and laughing eyes.

Rufus stared right back. He had hoped to have Audric as an ally. Instead, they were standing on opposite sides. How long would it be before…

Rufus forced a smile. "Of course not." _Try and stop me._

Audric finally released Rufus from his grasp. "Good." _I'll be watching you._

He would have to be careful.

* * *

 **Shyanne James, 19  
** **Victor of the 68** **th** **Hunger Games**

She hoped there was more to his plan.

Shyanne couldn't shake the thought from her head as one child after another took their turn coming to say goodbye. Some were crying. Some were trying to mirror her smile. A few were too young to really understand what was going on.

Sometimes she envied them. The younger ones. Unlike them, she knew exactly what was about to happen. Exactly what was waiting for them in the Capitol. Try as she might to avoid them, her memories of the Games were still fresh. There was no escaping them.

But maybe there _was_ a way to escape the Games this time.

If Rufus did, in fact, have a plan. He certainly seemed to, but how much of that was an actual plan and how much was bluster, she wasn't quite sure. It was hard to tell with Rufus. Maybe it was a good thing _he_ wasn't her district partner.

Instead, Valion was. Valion, her own mentor, who had brought her home safely once. Him, she was certain of. He would never have it in him to harm her. And he hadn't backed off when she had suggested that they all work together. Did that make them allies?

Shyanne shook the thought from her head. They didn't need to decide that yet. And, in any case, she would have to be a _lot_ more careful with her allies this time. Her allies during the first Games – allies she had been sure she could trust – had decided she was slowing them down, and locked her in a room filling with hallucinogenic gas.

They had regretted it later.

Shyanne shuddered a little as she wrapped her arms around Connor, who had arrived last. "Take care of the others until I'm back," she insisted, a smile creeping back onto her face. At least Connor was safe. And the other children – the ones who would have been of reaping age – they were safe for another year.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

And something was enough. The thought of her friends, safe from the Hunger Games for another year. The hope that maybe – just _maybe_ – Rufus had a plan for stopping this whole thing. The thought of having a district partner she could actually trust. For now, those thoughts were enough.

They were enough to hold onto.

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **Victor of the 39** **th** **Hunger Games**

He hoped that was all Rufus had planned.

Valion wrapped his arms around his wife Margret as his daughter and her family huddled closer to the pair of them. He liked Rufus well enough, but he had never shared the younger Victor's rebellious streak. He had his family to think of.

A family who would surely suffer if he did anything but play along.

Valion swallowed hard, trying to bury the thought. But there was nothing he could do to escape it. Playing along meant killing.

He had killed during the Games, of course. But that was years ago. Before his daughter. Before his grandchildren. What would they say if he came home with more blood on his hands – blood that belonged to Victors who reminded him so much of them?

Victors like Shyanne.

Valion held his family even tighter. He couldn't do it. He was sure of that much, at least. He would never be able to harm her. He had been the one, after all, to bring Shyanne home, only seven years ago. How could the Capitol expect them to fight each other now?

How could they expect _any_ of them to fight each other?

They would, of course. Thributes always did. Occasionally, one or two would refuse to fight. But the majority of them, when it came down to it, would fight once their lives were truly on the line. And the tributes this year – all of them had won once. All of them had killed. Well, most of them, at least. Barric…

Valion shook the thought from his head. Victors like Barric were the exception. And one or two of them wouldn't be enough to make a difference. Everyone in the Games this year had already made it through once, which, in almost every case, meant they had already proven they would fight and kill.

That was all the Capitol needed.

And he was one of them. Valion ruffled Bailey's hair fondly, painfully aware that he was among those giving the Capitol exactly what they wanted. But if fighting was what they wanted – and if fighting and killing would be enough to keep his family safe – then that was exactly what he would do.

There was no other choice.

* * *

" _Just do what I do: Hold tight and pretend it's a plan."_


	9. District Six: Want

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Thank you to _nevergone4ever_ and _Ariem_ for Camryn and Evo, respectively, and to _Jael . Rice . 1_ and _upsettomcat42_ for Ravi and Merril.

* * *

 **District Six  
** **Want**

* * *

 **Merril Keenbrand, 41  
** **Victor of the 51** **st** **Hunger Games**

They couldn't really be planning something.

Merril watched silently as District Five's reapings played on the screen. Part of him hadn't wanted to watch the reapings – any of them – but part of him knew that, if it happened to be him going back into the Games, any sort of a head start was a good thing. And knowing which of the other Victors would be going in, as well … well, it couldn't hurt to know the competition.

Competition. Merril flinched at the word. He'd been mentoring long enough to know a good number of the other Victors. Some of them were a bit abrasive – harsh, even – but most of them meant well, or were too scarred by their own Games to be aware of just how rude and uncaring they could be. And some of them, he considered friends.

Quite a few of them, now that he thought about it.

He hadn't gone into his first Games with friends. Allies, yes, but that hadn't lasted long, and there had always been a certain understanding that that sort of friendship could only be temporarily. But once he had survived the Games, he had put all of that behind him. His fellow Victors had become a security net of sorts – people he _could_ get close to. People who, he had thought, would always be there for each other, even if the rest of the district wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

But how could they be there for each other now?

Merril watched as Shyanne and Valion exchanged a hug rather than the customary handshake. How could the Capitol expect either of them to kill each other? How could they expect _any_ of them to kill each other?

Maybe Rufus had the right idea.

But what did he hope to accomplish? Making a bit of a scene during the reapings was one thing, but beneath all the bluster and the plans and the scheming, what did he _really_ think the Capitol was going to do if the Victors tried to stage some sort of protest, some sort of refusal to play the Games? Rufus had lost his own sister to the Games, and he _still_ didn't understand.

They had nothing to bargain with.

Maybe they had a little influence, here and there. A little say in events in their own districts. But their influence, their access to any sort of authority, only stretched as far as the Capitol allowed. Victors in more trustworthy districts – One, Two, maybe even Four – had a little more pull. But not enough. Not enough to make any sort of difference. They simply had too little to offer the Capitol.

And far too much to lose.

Merril shook his head, trying not to think about that. About his fellow Victors in District Six. Camryn had her husband, Kyler, only recently wed. Merill had his father, now older and quite dependent on Merril's income as a Victor. Ada had her husband and her daughter, Audrey, and the trio had accepted their oldest Victor, Ravi, as an honorary grandfather. And Evo … Well, he had his brother, at least. And he knew better than anyone the dangers of defying the Capitol.

Merril switched the screen off and returned to pacing back and forth. Whatever Rufus was planning, he and his fellow Victors in Six would want no part of it. They all had too much to lose. Too many people they cared about. Too many people the Capitol could use to hurt them.

And the Capitol certainly wouldn't hesitate. They weren't like some of the other Victors. None of them were especially well-liked in the Capitol. None of them had Galen's charm or Aras' charisma or Shyanne's spunk. For the most part, they were ignored.

And, most of the time, that was exactly how Merril preferred it. The spotlight, after all, came with its own dangers, as well. Even during his own Games, he had never been one to crave attention. He had survived. He had done what he had to do. And then, like most Victors, he had tried to find a way to move on.

Which was easier said than done, of course, but, most of the time, he was fairly satisfied with the results. His life wasn't perfect, but whose was? And he had always assumed, like so many other Victors, that as long as he kept his head down and didn't cause any trouble, he would be safe.

They had all been wrong.

But fighting it would only make things worse. Would only get more people killed. No, the only thing to do now was go along with it and hope for the best.

Because what made this year any different than any other year, really? Why was it worse to send them back into the Games than it was to send twenty-three children to their deaths? Just because most of the tributes this year would already know each other and had already lived through the Games once didn't make it any worse – not objectively. Twenty-three people would die. One would live.

Just like any other year.

Merril shook his head. It was a somewhat lazy argument, but it would do. It was enough, for the moment, to convince him to make his way out the door and to the square, where, sure enough, his fellow Victors had gathered obediently onstage. Ravi sat in the center beside Ada. Camryn sat beside Ada, Evo beside Ravi. Merril nodded and took his place beside Evo, who merely grunted in response to Merril's greeting.

Not that Merril blamed him. Not that he blamed any of them, really. Even Rufus. They all had every right to be upset. But most of them had the sense not to appear angry or resentful – at least, not in front of the Capitol.

And they were, in fact, in front of the Capitol. Every camera in the square was trained on them. Watching. Waiting. Waiting to see what they would do.

But no one did anything. No one objected as their escort, Tiago Monger, joined them onstage, grinning as usual. No one voiced even a single word of protest as he approached the first reaping bowl, which held only two names.

Ada and Camryn. Merril watched silently along with the rest of the district. He could still remember both of their Games clearly. Ada had won eight years before him, Camryn eight years after. Both had barely made it out alive the first time – and a good part of that had been luck. If one of them was picked…

 _When_ one of them was picked. Because it had to be one of them. Merril held his breath as Tiago dipped his hand into the bowl and removed a single slip of paper. Slowly, he unfolded it. "Camryn Cartier!"

Slowly, Camryn stood up, biting her lip, staring at the ground. Silently, she took a few steps towards Tiago, still not looking out at the crowd. Not looking at her family. Trying desperately not to do anything that might be perceived as defiance. She couldn't afford to.

None of them could.

Satisfied, Tiago turned his attention to the next bowl. Merril tensed, his fingers drumming uncontrollably on the arm of his chair. What if Tiago chose him? What if he had to go back into the Games? Would he be as calm as Camryn?

Somehow, he doubted it.

Tiago tried to make a show of reaching into the second bowl, but even he couldn't draw out the ritual as he normally did, stirring the papers around a little before choosing one. There were only three names, and, soon, his fingers closed around one. Slowly, he drew it out and unfolded it. "Evo Ortega!"

Merril took a deep breath. Then another. It wasn't him. It wasn't him.

Beside him, Evo nodded a little, and Merril thought, for a moment, that he was almost smiling. Maybe he had misheard. But then Evo stood up, slowly, calmly. Ravi opened his mouth as if to say something, but Evo shook his head, and that was the end of the matter. He took his place beside Camryn and held out his hand. Camryn was trembling as the two shook hands, but she managed to maintain her composure until the cameras were switched off.

Immediately, Ada raced off the stage and into her husband's arms, her daughter Audrey wrapping her arms around them both. Merril glanced at Ravi, who was smiling a little despite everything. "Let them be. It's you and me this year, Merril."

Evo nodded, placing a hand on Camryn's back. "You can have Ravi, if you like. I'll take Twitchy over here." He nodded towards Merril.

Merril cringed. He wasn't _twitchy_. Well, not really. Okay, maybe he was, but did Evo really have to point it out?

Merril shook the thought from his head. Evo was trying to be kind – trying to give Camryn a better chance. Ravi had brought home three tributes, after all – including both Evo and Camryn the first time around, while, so far, Merril had been unsuccessful as a mentor. Merril nodded to Evo. "Fine with me." Camryn and Ravi both nodded.

If only the Games could be that simple.

Merril turned to Ravi as Evo and Camryn were led off to the justice building. "Don't mind Evo," Ravi suggested. "We're all a bit on edge."

"He's got a reason to be," Merril admitted. "Were you … were you going to volunteer for him?"

Ravi shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just thought … well, I'm getting on, you know. Better me than…" He trailed off. "But Evo's not really the sort to want anyone else dying for him, I suppose."

Merril nodded a little. He didn't know Evo particularly well. Maybe no one did. But he did know that if Ravi had offered to take _his_ place in the Games, he certainly wouldn't have said no.

Did that mean Evo _wanted_ to go back?

* * *

 **Evo Ortega, 59  
** **Victor of the 32** **nd** **Hunger Games**

They'd wanted this for a long time.

Evo shook his head as his brother closed the door behind him. He wasn't expecting anyone else. No one else who would miss him. Even his brother would get along fine. Maybe Evo's death would even be a relief for him, and he could finally move on with his own life.

And Evo could finally be with his sister again.

Evo leaned back in his chair. That was the Capitol's plan, of course. How long had they been waiting for a good excuse to kill him? Killing his sister Maria hadn't been enough. Putting him through the Games once hadn't been enough. Maybe now they finally had the guts to just _end_ it.

And maybe that was for the best.

He'd thought about ending it himself, often enough. But part of him knew – part of him had always known – that Maria would have never wanted him to take his own life. But this – this was beyond his control. If he happened to die in the Games … well, that was the whole point of the Games, wasn't it?

But he wasn't going down without a fight.

Evo clenched his fists. That was exactly what the Capitol wanted, of course: a fight. But what was he supposed to do? Just lie down and die? No. No, he hadn't been willing to do that forty-three years ago. And he wouldn't do it now. He would fight for every moment, every breath, every drop of blood.

But he would lose.

That much had already been decided. Victors like him were the reason for the Quell, after all. People who had been a nuisance. People who hadn't had the sense to die when they were supposed to. People the Capitol wanted dead.

And the Capitol always got what they wanted.

Sometimes they took their time. Sometimes they waited years – even decades. Until his name didn't mean anything to most people even in his own district, and his sister had been all but forgotten. Except by him.

But when he was gone, who would remember?

Ravi. Ravi would remember. The sentimental old man had wanted to volunteer for him, but that was the one thing he couldn't allow. He didn't need any more ghosts. He wouldn't stand for one more of his friends to die on his account.

So he would just have to kill the ones who _weren't_ his friends.

* * *

 **Camryn Cartier, 34  
** **Victor of the 57** **th** **Hunger Games**

Why did they still want to kill her?

Camryn held her husband Kyler as tightly as she could, as if by holding onto him she could hold onto her life in District Six a little longer. "I did everything they wanted," she whispered. "Everything. I…"

"I know," Kyler echoed soothingly. "I know. They're not after you – not really. You had a fifty-fifty chance, and…" He trailed off, unable to say the rest. She'd had a fifty-fifty chance. And she had lost. She had lost everything.

It wasn't _fair_.

She didn't deserve this. She wasn't like Evo, who would go off on rants about the Capitol every now and then because he figured he had nothing left to lose. Maybe she would have done the same thing once – maybe she even had, once or twice during her Games – but she had learned. She knew better now.

So why were they still punishing her?

"You can do this," Kyler insisted. His voice was a bit shaky, but he was trying to stay calm. Trying to hold it together for her sake. Just like she was trying to do for him.

But how long could they keep pretending?

She had won her first Games by a stroke of luck – and the blind loyalty of an ally. She couldn't count on the same thing happening again. And if she didn't make it back…

Life would go on. She would see to that. Even if she didn't make it back, she couldn't afford to do anything that might turn the Capitol against her family. Her family's best chance – and her best chance, as well – was for her to play along with what the Capitol wanted.

Camryn shook her head. The thought made her sick. She'd only killed one tribute in her own Games – and by accident, even then – but she'd seen more than enough death. Enough to last a lifetime.

But apparently the Capitol didn't agree. Apparently, they could never have quite enough death. Seventy-five years, and they still hadn't tired of watching people kill each other. Maybe it was disgusting. Despicable. But it was the way things were.

And she didn't dare do what it would take to change it.

* * *

" _What I don't comprehend is why you want me dead. No. No, let me rephrase that. It would satisfy my curiosity to know why you should go to such extraordinary lengths to kill me."_


	10. District Seven: The Best

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Thank you to _PuTtHaTcOoKiEDoWn_ and _jakey121_ for Hatchet and Clark, respectively, and to _RandomTributeAccount_ for Winnow. Also, a big thank you to everybody who submitted tributes to my sister's story. She finally has enough to get started, and the tribute list is now up on her profile.

* * *

 **District Seven  
** **The Best**

* * *

 **Winnow Rathings, 27  
** **Victor of the 65** **th** **Hunger Games**

She still hadn't made up her mind.

Winnow kicked a rock out of the path as she made her way to the district square. Her younger brother, Linton, opened his mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it. There was nothing to say. Nothing any of them could say. Either she would go back into the Games, or she wouldn't. That was all there was to it.

Except it wasn't.

Winnow clenched her fists tightly, wishing the thought would leave her mind. The thought that maybe it should be her choice, after all. Maybe she should volunteer. Maybe it would be better – for her, for her family, for everyone else – if she went back into the Games.

On the surface, the thought was absurd. But she was used to that. It had been absurd to volunteer the first time, ten years ago. Her little brother had been called to the stage, but a boy had volunteered in his place. Inspired by his courage, Winnow had volunteered for the girl, who hadn't been much older than her own little brother. It had been foolish, perhaps – an idealistic gesture that, by all rights, should have gotten her killed.

But she had survived. She had fought hard for her right to come home. She was here by her own merits, not by the strange quirks of luck or fate that had saved others in the arena. It was absurd to think of going back in.

But what was the other choice?

Winnow shook her head. She knew the other choice. The other choice was Hatchet, who, while still fit and strong for her age, was an old woman nonetheless. Would she really stand a chance in the arena? At least Winnow would have a chance – maybe even a good chance – of coming out again. Wasn't it better, then, for her to take that chance?

And what would their district really be losing? She had entered the Games a hero for saving the life of the younger girl at the reapings, but she had emerged a murderer, a traitor who had turned on her district partner, Nestor – the boy who had saved her own brother – at the best opportunity, who hadn't hesitated to use him as bait for the Careers and had finished him off herself when the Careers hadn't quite been able to finish the job. She would never forget the look on his face.

And neither would anyone in their district.

But was that enough reason to go back in? Some vague chance for redemption? If she saved Hatchet's life now, would that be enough to make up for the lives that she had taken? For Nestor's life?

But, on the other hand, there was nothing to make up for. She had nothing to apologize for – or, at least, she shouldn't. If she hadn't killed Nestor, someone else would have. She'd only done what almost every Victor in the history of the Games had done: killed in order to survive.

She was certainly no different from District Seven's other Victors. Clark, who had won a mere five years after her, had made his share of kills. Even Benton, who had won more by luck than by skill, had killed – although most of his opponents had been weakened by the poisonous snakes that had filled his arena by the time he got to them. And Hatchet, despite her age, had been quite the Victor herself back in her day, totaling five kills before her time in the arena was over, passing her older brother's total by two tributes.

Winnow took a deep breath as she approached the stage. Her fellow Victors stood with their families by the side of the stage, waiting. Waiting for her? Or maybe hoping to simply prolong the inevitable a little longer before taking their places.

Winnow turned to her brother and sister, sharing an awkward embrace before taking her place with her fellow Victors. Clark, too, shared a brief hug with his parents before they, too, disappeared into the crowd. Winnow nodded. He understood. If either of them was going back into the Games, they couldn't afford to seem soft and emotional – at least, not in front of the Capitol audience.

Hatchet didn't seem particularly concerned with that. As she took her place onstage, her family followed – her son, his wife, and her two grandchildren. She took her seat, smirking, and they stood supportively behind her.

Benton, too, was surrounded – and almost completely hidden – by his family as he took the stage. They made a strange group, at first glance. Benton's wife, Savannah, was nearly twice his size, and even his younger daughter, Acacia, who was only nine, was already a head taller than him. Only his older daughter, Azalea, had inherited her father's stature, his stunted legs and stubby arms.

Winnow's stomach turned. Both of District Seven's older Victors were doing their best to put on a brave face, but even from her position offstage, she could see that Benton was shaking. Would chance would he or Hatchet have if they were chosen to go back into the arena? Maybe it _should_ be her and Clark going back in.

But Clark…

District Seven's youngest Victor certainly looked confident as he took the stage, taking a seat next to Benton after shaking the older Victor's trembling hand. Winnow couldn't hear what Clark said, but it was probably "good luck." But wishing each other luck was a formality, at best. Certainly each of them was hoping the other one would be chosen.

She almost wished she could be thinking the same thing.

Last of all, Winnow took the stage, sliding into a chair beside Hatchet, trying not to look at the older woman. But Hatchet smiled knowingly and clapped Winnow firmly on the back. "Good luck, Kiddo."

Winnow nodded. "You, too." But the words were hollow. Even if luck didn't save Hatchet, _she_ could. All she had to do was volunteer – one more time.

Winnow watched silently as District Seven's escort, Humphrey Munger, joined them onstage, shaking everyone's hands and grinning madly. He didn't seem to understand – he never did – that two of them, more likely than not, wouldn't be coming home again. Maybe there were escorts in other districts who grew attached to their Victors and would be sorry to see them go, but not Humphrey. He was practically jumping up and down as he approached the first bowl, which held two names. Hers and Hatchet's. He quickly reached in and snatched up the first slip of paper his fingers found. "Hatchet Ford!"

Winnow's stomach turned. This was it. She could let the older woman die, or…

But, just as she started to stand up and open her mouth, Hatchet burst out laughing. Nearly on her feet, Winnow turned, shocked, as a hand pulled her back down. "Sit down, young lady!" Hatchet demanded between cackles of laughter. "Better me than you, I suppose." She turned her grin to the crowd. "I'm going to die soon, anyway, so why the hell not?"

Humphrey grinned and clapped District Seven's oldest living Victor on the back. "That's the spirit! Why not? What's one more Game?" He almost tripped over himself as he sprinted to the other reaping bowl. Winnow glanced over at Benton and Clark, both of whom were watching intently as Humphrey dipped his hand in the bowl and removed one of the two slips of paper. He practically tore it open, then grinned. "Clark Tierney!"

For a moment, Clark sat there, frozen in his seat. Benton shifted his weight uncomfortably but made no move to volunteer. Of course not. The pair of them were close, but there were limits. Neither of them was about to risk his life for the other.

After a moment, Clark stood, stuffing his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking. He took one step forward, then another, until he was standing beside Hatchet. The corners of his mouth twitched a little, as if he was trying to smile but couldn't quite manage it. Finally, a half-smile settled onto his face as he pulled a hand from his pocket long enough to hold it out to Hatchet, who shook it firmly.

And that was it. Winnow glanced over at Benton, who nodded. They were safe. _She_ was safe. She wouldn't be going back into the Games.

But, somehow, she still couldn't shake the thought that she _should_ be.

One by one, the others' family members made their way off the stage, leaving only the four of them. Two tributes. Two mentors. Winnow turned to Hatchet. "I … I was going to—"

"Save it, sweetie," Hatchet smiled a little. "You don't get to throw your life away for me. You still have work to do."

"Work to do?"

Hatchet chuckled. "Didn't really think about it, did you. If you go into the Games and get yourself killed, and in a few years I'm gone, anyway, just like my big brother, then who's left for the tributes here? This little shrimp?" She ruffled Benton's hair. Benton rolled his eyes and playfully swatted her hand away. "This way, at least, the tributes next year – and the next, and the next – will have two of you. Maybe three." She clapped Clark on the back.

Winnow shook her head. "But not four. It's not fair. I—"

Hatchet smirked. "One round of the Games didn't drill it into your head hard enough, eh? Life isn't fair. The Games aren't fair. Nothing is fair for anyone else, so why should we expect any different?"

"We're Victors. We—"

"—were lucky enough to make it out of the Games once," Benton finished. "And the two of us got lucky again today. That should be enough for you."

Maybe. But it wasn't. It wasn't enough. She was safe, but Clark and Hatchet – and twenty-two Victors in the other districts – were still going to be fighting for their lives. Maybe she wasn't particularly close to most of them, but it still wasn't right.

"Benton's right." Clark's voice caught her off-guard. He was the last person she would have expected to be all right with the situation. Maybe Hatchet didn't have much to lose – not much time left, anyway – but he had his whole life ahead of him. "Maybe it's not fair, but complaining about it isn't going to help anyone – especially us." He nodded to Hatchet, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders as Clark nodded to one of the cameras nearby.

Winnow sighed. Even now, going back to what would probably be his death, Clark was concerned about his image. About how the Capitol would see him. Benton smiled a little, playing along. "That's my boy."

Winnow bit her tongue. Of course Benton would want to mentor Clark. Of course he would want the tribute who actually had a chance of coming back. Hatchet disentangled herself from her younger district partner and approached Winnow. "Looks like it's you and me, then." She chuckled. "Just keep me alive until the Games, and I'll take it from there."

Winnow nodded as Hatchet and Clark headed for the Justice Building. But she couldn't help a twinge of guilt as she watched them go. "You had a fifty-fifty chance, just like them," Benton pointed out, a knowing look in his eyes as the pair of them headed for the train. "We just got lucky. That's all."

Lucky. Maybe. Maybe that was all there was to it. Maybe she didn't have anything to feel guilty about – or, at least, anything she _should_ feel guilty about.

But that didn't make it any better.

* * *

 **Hatchet Ford, 77  
** **Victor of the 13** **th** **Hunger Games**

Maybe this was better for everyone.

Hatchet held her grandchildren close as they fussed over her one last time. She straightened Jean's tie and wiped the tears from Antoinette's eyes. Of course there were people who would miss her, in the likely event that she didn't make it back. But she'd had a good life. A long life. Longer than most in District Seven could hope for. Longer than she'd had any right to expect all those years ago when she'd entered the Games the first time.

Maybe life didn't owe her any more.

Winnow ruffled her son's hair fondly. Life had never owed her anything, after all. She had never expected anything to be handed to her, and she certainly didn't expect it now. She'd always taken the bad along with the good, the hardships along with the triumphs. There was no reason for that to change now. In some ways, this would be no different than her first time through the Games.

Hatchet chuckled a little. She wasn't fooling anyone – including herself. In some ways, it would be the same, of course, but in other ways – some very important ways – everything had changed. Instead of being roughly her equals, the other tributes this year would almost all be younger, stronger, better suited to the Games. She would have to get lucky – _very_ lucky – in order to have a chance of coming home.

But it wouldn't be the first time she'd gotten lucky. Both her win and her brother's had been a combination of luck and skill. And while her body was older now and her skills were more than a little rusty, her mind was as sharp as ever. And maybe that was even better – even more useful – than the skills some of the other tributes would still possess. Recently, it seemed, half of the Victors had relied mostly on their looks and their physical abilities, while the other half had won by sheer luck. Maybe they would underestimate the kindly old grandmother who wanted to return to her family.

Or maybe not. These were Victors, after all. Everyone in the arena was a threat. Even her. Some of them might be quick to write her off, but some would remember. Some would remember the little girl whose first kill had come while she was proposing an alliance to another boy. The little girl who, in the end, had been even deadlier than her older, stronger brother.

But would they realize she was just as deadly now?

* * *

 **Clark Tierney, 23  
** **Victor of the 70** **th** **Hunger Games**

Maybe he was the best choice, after all.

Clark took a deep breath as the door closed behind his parents. Five years ago, when he had sat in this same room, no one would have considered him the best choice to go into the Games. He had been shaking like a leaf onstage, and had broken down in tears during his goodbyes. No one had thought he would make it home the first time.

But he had. He wasn't proud of what he'd done to survive, but survive he had. He had fought. He had killed. He had assumed, like so many others, that, once he made it out of the arena alive, everything would be all right.

And maybe _everything_ hadn't been all right, but, for the most part, the last five years had been good. At first, he'd struggled to find a new routine, but, eventually, he had taken a part-time job in the lumberyard. Not because he'd needed the money, of course, but because he'd needed something normal. Something real.

Maybe he'd needed a distraction.

But it was better than spending his days holed up in his house in Victors' Village, as some Victors did. It was better than drinking his memories away or turning to drugs for relief from his problems. Maybe his life wasn't perfect, but whose was? And things had seemed to be getting better. He had made friends at work, his family had always been there for him, and he had gotten to know most of the other Victors – or, at least, the ones who were still mentoring – during his four years as a mentor.

So maybe he was a better choice. Objectively. From an outside perspective. He had his parents, yes, but no children. No one who was depending on him. He was still young, still strong, the memories and skills from his first Games still fresh in his mind. He had a chance. Maybe not a large chance, but the best chance he could ask for.

And he had to take advantage of that.

The others – his district, the other tributes, maybe even the Capitol – would see him as a contender. He could use that – their confidence, their approval. He could build on that. He'd done his best to be the sort of Victor that his district could be proud of. Now he could use that image in his favor. This time, he could be the sort of tribute the Capitol would want to see.

But would that be good enough?

* * *

" _Pitiful. Can [they] do no better than you as their champion?"_

" _Probably. I just do the best I can."_


	11. District Eight: Work

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to keep an eye out for allies as we go through the reapings, and let me know if you see a good match.

Thank you to _Jabber Blabber Ink_ and _fat necrosis_ for Cadaya and Maximus, respectively, and to _CreativeAJL_ for Jasper.

* * *

 **District Eight  
** **Work**

* * *

 **Simeon Bunting, 15  
** **Victor of the 74** **th** **Hunger Games**

He wished there was something he could do.

Simeon wrapped his arms around Maia's shoulders as the pair sat, waiting for the others. There was nothing else he could do. Nothing he could say. He could still hold onto hope – for himself, at least. But there was nothing he could say to comfort his best friend. Nothing he could do to stop what they both knew was coming.

Maia's mother was going back into the Games.

His own fate was still uncertain. There were two other male Victors. He had a one in three chance – the same chance that Jasper and Maximus had. But District Eight's only other female Victor, Lavinia, had committed suicide before he was even born. There was no other option. His mentor, a woman he had come to love and respect over the past year, would be the female tribute.

It wasn't fair. He'd heard Maximus grumbling that the Capitol was using this Quell to get rid of potentially rebellious Victors. But none of District Eight's Victors fit that description. In fact, they had all done their best to go back to normal lives. Maximus, Cadaya, Jasper – they all had families. Children. People they cared about.

And, for that, he respected them. Maybe they weren't the glamorous Victors that people expected from wealthier, more respectable districts. But he couldn't have asked for a more welcoming, genuine group of people to help him return to a normal life following the Games.

A normal life he'd never had to begin with. He'd grown up in the district's community home, abandoned by his mother. A prostitute, rumor had it, though no one seemed to know for sure. A childhood illness had left him half blind, but that hadn't stopped the home from releasing him to fend for himself at twelve to make way for newer, younger charges. He'd survived on the streets – begging, digging through old garbage, fighting the dogs for scraps.

No one had expected him to survive the Games. Even Cadaya had probably offered to mentor him out of sympathy, rather than hope that he could make it out alive. But, as luck would have it, he'd been right at home in the dark, ruined city that had served as the arena. He'd navigated the alleyways and corridors as expertly as any child who had spent the last two years on the streets, attacking tributes who happened to wander by in the dark.

And maybe he wasn't proud of it, but it could have been worse. Much worse. All four of his kills had been relatively quick. Painless. Merciful. Because that was what he would have wanted for himself. That was the most anyone could really ask for in the Games – a quick death.

But he had gotten more. He was alive. And, upon his victory, the Capitol surgeons had repaired most of the damage to his eyes – and corrected the rest with a pair of glasses. He'd gained a home. Friends he now considered a family. All in all, things hadn't been so bad.

Until the announcement. The realization that he could be going _back_ into the arena – this time, against seasoned competitors. People who already knew all of his tricks. People who wouldn't hesitate to kill him because of his age or his small size.

Or would they?

No, not because of his age. But maybe because of their friendship. He didn't really know any of the Victors outside of Eight – although he'd met some briefly during his Victory tour – but he couldn't imagine Cadaya trying to kill him.

Then again, he couldn't imagine himself trying to kill Cadaya, either.

Of course, a year ago, he wouldn't have been able to imagine himself killing _anyone_. But he had, when it had come down to it. There was no reason to believe his fellow Victors wouldn't do the same, with their lives once again on the line.

Finally, Cadaya emerged from the bedroom, along with her husband Ansel. Her eyes were red from crying, but she managed a smile as she joined the others – her children Maia, Koder, and Iris, her parents, her sister, and Simeon. "All right, then," she said quietly. "Let's go."

As they made their way to the square, they were joined by Maximus and his family – his wife Vina and their four children, the youngest only a few months old. Jasper quickly met up with them, as well, along with his wife and son, his parents, and his sister. Maia slipped her hand into Simeon's as they approached the square. Maybe there was nothing they could do. But they could be there for each other.

And maybe that was enough.

No. It wasn't enough, Simeon knew as they took the stage, ignoring the chairs that stood behind them and instead standing in a group at the front of the stage, all together. Not three families, but one. One family that had somehow managed to pull each other through the hardest times – and had perhaps even come out stronger.

Until now.

Simeon took a deep breath as their escort, Petunia Flanagan, joined them onstage, eyeing their cluster of families curiously but certainly not objecting to their presence. Simeon even thought, for a moment, that he saw her wince as she approached the first reaping bowl, which held only one name. "Cadaya Kallier!"

Maia squeezed Simeon's hand tightly as a few of them began to cry. They had known it was coming, of course, but that didn't make it any easier. Cadaya tried to keep the tears from her eyes as she took a step forward, but, after a few steps, she collapsed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Ansel was at her side in an instant, his arms around her. By then, the Peacekeepers were onstage, as well. "Give her a moment!" Ansel insisted, but they didn't listen. They pried the two apart, hauling Cadaya to her feet even as Ansel fought to remain by her side. One of them gave him a shove, and he tumbled off the stage.

A second Peacekeeper fired a shot into the air. Instantly, the crowd settled, and, as Ansel slowly made his way back onstage, even he seemed subdued. Cadaya was going back into the Games – they'd known that for weeks – but the thought that the Peacekeepers might start shooting the rest of his family, as well, was enough to make him think twice.

Even Petunia seemed a bit flustered, but she quickly regained her composure and approached the second bowl. Simeon gave Maia's had a squeeze. Three names – and one of them was his. One of them…

Petunia reached in, selected a piece of paper, and quickly drew it out. "Maximus Kellen!"

A gruff "hmph" from behind him was all the reaction they would get from Maximus, who quickly strode forward, taking his place beside Cadaya and holding out his hand stiffly, as if to say, _Let's just get this over with._ Cadaya nodded, shaking his hand as the Peacekeepers quickly escorted their families offstage, leaving only the four Victors.

Only then, alone with the other three onstage, did it finally hit him. They hadn't picked him. He wasn't going back into the arena. He was safe.

Or, at least, as safe as anyone could be. Because if the Capitol could decide that they were going to send _Victors_ back into the Games, then no one was truly safe. Anywhere. Ever.

But maybe that was the point. Maybe the Capitol was worried that they _had_ begun to think they were safe. That they were getting too comfortable. And maybe they were. But, after what they'd been through, didn't they _deserve_ a little comfort?

Simeon shook the thought from his head. He certainly had no right to complain. Not when Cadaya and Maximus were the ones going back in.

"I'll take Simeon." Cadaya's voice surprised him as his mentor slipped an arm around his shoulders. She was choosing him. Again. But why?

"Fine with me," Maximus agreed, nodding to Jasper, who seemed perfectly agreeable to any arrangement that involved someone _else_ being in the arena.

"Why?" Simeon whispered as the Peacekeepers came to take Cadaya and Maximus to the Justice Building.

There were still tears in Cadaya's eyes, but she managed a smile as she ruffled Simeon's hair. "For Maia."

Maia. Simeon shook his head. Cadaya was going to what was probably her death, and she was still thinking of her daughter. Simeon blushed. He'd had a bit of a crush on Maia for the better part of the last year, but he hadn't thought Cadaya had really noticed. Silly, really. Of course she'd noticed. And she knew that her daughter would never forgive Simeon if he mentored someone else and…

And what? And that person happened to live when Cadaya died? Or that person actually killed her? He couldn't imagine Maximus actually _killing_ Cadaya. Or did Cadaya know that Simeon would want _her_ to come back? Was she worried that he might not be able to mentor someone else because of the way he felt about Maia?

Simeon shook his head. Most likely, he was overthinking it. Cadaya was the one going back into the Games. She was entitled to choose whoever she pleased as a mentor, whatever the reason.

Simeon felt a hand on his shoulder. Jasper. "You all right?"

Simeon nodded a little. "I think so."

"Good." Jasper gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Because we have work to do."

* * *

 **Cadaya Kallier, 43  
** **Victor of the 48** **th** **Hunger Games**

She had thought she was ready for this.

Cadaya buried her face in Ansel's shirt as the rest of her family crowded around. They'd had weeks to prepare. And she still wasn't ready. She wasn't ready to go back into the Games.

She wasn't ready to die.

Not that dying was a certainty. She would try her hardest to come home, just like any of the others. But, even in the best of circumstances, that gave her a one-in-twenty-four chance of coming home.

Not exactly good odds.

Of course, those odds had been the same the first time around. Not much better, not much worse. She had beaten the odds once. Maybe she could do it again.

But if not…

Cadaya held her family close. If not, they would go on without her. They would have to. Iris and Koder and Maia – they had so much ahead of them. So much to look forward to. Iris and Koder had already made it through their own reapings, and Maia only had two more years left. Two more years…

Cadaya swallowed hard. She couldn't afford to do anything to jeapordize that. As much as she hated what she would have to do in the Games, she wouldn't give them an excuse to hurt her family, or to make sure that Maia was reaped. She had to play along.

She had to do better.

Cadaya took a deep breath. Maybe the Capitol could forgive her for being a mess at the reaping. But they wouldn't excuse that sort of behavior from now on. They would expect her to be strong. Ready and willing to fight. So that was exactly what she would have to be. For her family's sake. For Maia's sake.

Maia. Cadaya smiled a little. Had Simeon actually thought she hadn't noticed? Not that she objected. Having a friend her own age was good for Maia. And as for Simeon, if the Capitol thought that the two were a pair, then maybe they wouldn't force him to…

 _Stop it._ She couldn't afford to start worrying about Simeon right now. He was safe for the moment, which was more than she could say for herself. And part of her was grateful it wouldn't be him in the Games. It was hard enough to focus knowing Maximus was one of the other twenty-four. If the only tribute she had brought home had been going back in with her…

But he wasn't. And she had to stop worrying about him. About everyone. She had to focus. She had to start thinking about herself.

She had work to do.

* * *

 **Maximus Kellen, 52  
** **Victor of the 38** **th** **Hunger Games**

He had thought it would be someone else.

Maximus took a deep breath as his family was escorted out of the room, his children still clinging to him until the Peacekeepers pried them off – except for the youngest, Elodie, who was still asleep in Vina's arms. He had assumed that the Capitol would use these Games to target more rebellious Victors. Ones who had actually caused a stir after their Games. Ones who were dangerous.

And maybe he hadn't been a model Victor – at least in the first few years after his Victory. Maybe he'd gotten drunk every now and then, maybe he'd visited one too many brothels, maybe he'd occasionally taken his anger out on one or two of the girls there … but that was a long time ago. And, in any case, why would the Capitol care? There were Victors out there who had done worse. Much worse.

Besides, all of that was well behind him – just like his first two marriages. Vina didn't care about any of that, so why should they? It wasn't like he'd attacked a _Peacekeeper_ or anything – just a couple of brothel girls. And it wasn't as if he'd spoken out against the Capitol, like a _few_ of the Victors.

Then again, neither had Jasper or Simeon – or Cadaya, for that matter. And maybe that was it. Maybe there was simply no one in Eight for them to target, so they had left it up to dumb luck.

And he had lost.

But he hadn't lost the Games yet. Maybe the Capitol audience had never been too fond of him, but he had a wife and children now. Four children, including a two-month-old daughter. Maybe that would be enough to win him some sympathy.

But sympathy wouldn't be enough. There were other Victors with families – including Cadaya. And there were certainly other Victors who were younger, more attractive. Maximus shook his head. Let them have their good looks and their adoring fans. He had something better.

He was willing to kill.

And maybe the others were, too, once it came down to it. But that wouldn't be enough. The Capitol would be looking for tributes who would be willing to take the initiative. Willing to _start_ the fight. And those would probably be few and far between.

So he would have to make sure he was one of them.

And maybe that was terrible. But anything that could give him an edge – _anything_ – was worth trying. Because the fact was that twenty-three of them were going to die. Who actually started the fighting … maybe that didn't matter, in the end. All that mattered was who came out alive. And he meant for it to be him.

But he had a lot of work to do first.

* * *

" _Anyone would think that it's a little game, and it's not. People have died … and all you can say is that you've had a good night's work … Just whose side are you on?"_


	12. District Nine: Events

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Thank you to _Greybeard mmmmmm3_ and _TitanMaddix_ for Ebony and Aras, respectively, and to _StellaSlomp_ and _MidnightRaven323_ for Charlie and Barric.

* * *

 **District Nine  
** **Events**

* * *

 **Barric Lee, 59  
** **Victor of the 31** **st** **Hunger Games**

He was getting too old for this.

Barric sighed, leaning back in his chair. Maybe he didn't have any business complaining. Two of District Nine's Victors, after all, were even older than he was. Aras was four years his senior, and had won the year before Barric, while Nerys was ninety-one. The oldest Victor, and the Victor of the First Hunger Games.

And if it was unfair that either he or Aras was going back into the Games, then it was even more unfair that it might be Nerys. Still, his mentor hadn't uttered a word of complaint against the Capitol, or even suggested that maybe one of District Nine's younger, more able Victors should volunteer, if her name happened to be called.

No, she would never suggest that herself. She knew better than anyone that friendship and even family only went so far where the Games were concerned. Nearly three quarters of a century later, and people still knew the story. Nerys had gone into the Games along with the younger brother of one of her best friends. The first time she had an opportunity to kill him, she spared his life, but the second…

Barric shook his head. He was in no place to judge. District Nine was a district of firsts. Nerys had been the first Victor. Thirty years later, he had earned them the status of the third district with back-to-back victories … and become the first Victor of the Hunger Games without a kill to his name.

Most people didn't mention it – either in the Capitol or in the districts – but the fact was always there. He never quite fit in with the other Victors, never fully shared the burden of their guilt. But neither was he comfortable around the other citizens. Maybe he hadn't killed, but he had seen enough death – _more_ than enough – to last a lifetime.

Barric sighed as his thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in!" he called, and, sure enough, his brother Ceres entered, with Barric's nice, Ayra, in tow. Usually, the young woman would be bubbling over with the latest news – and gossip – from town, but not today. No matter how things went today, District Nine was about to lose one of its Victors. Probably two.

No time for gossip today.

Barric nodded a little. "I guess we should…"

Ceres nodded. "Wouldn't want to be late," he offered.

No. Wouldn't want to be late for what could very well mean his death. And it would, if he was the one chosen to go back into the Games. He had survived once, thanks to a combination of his quick thinking, his ability to stay hidden, and no small amount of dumb luck. He wouldn't get that lucky again.

So he would just have to hope he got lucky today.

Slowly, the three of them made their way to the stage, only to find they were the first to arrive. Or he was the first Victor, at least; the crowd was already starting to gather. But instead of the teenagers being herded away from their parents, as normal, families stood together, watching. And, for the first time in years, they could watch the reapings without any hint of fear for their own lives, their children's lives, their brothers and sisters and cousins.

Only five of them needed to fear for their lives today.

One by one, the others arrived. Aras was next, taking the steps two by two, flashing a smile at the crowd in spite of everything before taking a seat next to Barric. Barric nodded uneasily. Maybe Aras was choosing to ignore the uncomfortable truth, but they both knew it. Only one of them could escape today's reaping.

The other three arrived together – Nerys, Charlie, and Ebony. The two younger Victors helped Nerys up the stairs. Nerys muttered something that was probably a greeting and gave Barric a pat on the back. Barric finally managed a smile. At least she was in good spirits.

The younger Victors, on the other hand, didn't seem quite as calm – and not without reason. It wouldn't be unreasonable to think that the Capitol might consider a ninety-one-year-old woman a rather boring tribute, and decide to reap one of the younger two, instead. And neither of them, as far as the Capitol was concerned, had an unblemished record.

Charlie had a reputation around the district as something of a troublemaker. Nothing outright illegal or rebellious, and certainly nothing that could ever be traced back to her, but the fact remained that there were people – including Peacekeepers and the mayor – whose lives would be easier if she was out of the picture. Not that anyone in District Nine would ever suggest that she be purposely reaped, but the Capitol…

And Ebony. Ebony, whose older sister had died in the arena only three years before her own Games. Ebony, who had volunteered for the Games to save her sister, only to return home to find that both of her parents had been killed in an "accident."

An accident was still the official story, but everyone in the district knew better. Ebony's parents, Vidal and Dawn Kracov, had rallied the workers in the fields and threatened to strike for the duration of the Hunger Games. It was only the second day of the Games, however, when the pair of them turned up dead. Killed by a freak tornado, the Peacekeepers said, but their bodies weren't torn up enough to hide the bullet-holes. Everyone knew the truth.

Including Ebony, of course. But she played along with the official story – both for her own sake and for her sister's. Her sister, Kyla, who would be eighteen this year. Her sister, who was safe from the reaping because of the Quell twist.

Ebony nodded to Charlie as they each took a seat on either side of Nerys. One out of three. Not bad odds, considering _his_ odds were only one out of two.

 _Stop thinking like that._ Barric clutched the arms of his chair tightly as District Nine's escort, Emilio Princeton, joined them onstage. He nodded to each of the Victors, then approached the first reaping bowl, which held only three slips of paper. Three names. Emilio reached in, chose the closest, and slowly unfolded it.

"Ebony Kracov!"

Ebony, who had taken a seat beside Barric, took a deep breath. Then another. Finally, she stood up. She had known this might be coming. Maybe she had even suspected it would be her. But that didn't make it any easier. Shaking a little, she took a step forward. Then another. Finally, she was standing beside Emilio, who gave her a little pat on the shoulder.

As if that could bring her any comfort. As if anything he could say or do would make anything better. Barric tensed as Emilio turned his attention to the second bowl of names. Two names. His and Aras'. Once again, Emilio reached in and chose the first name his fingers found. "Aras Everett!"

Barric kept quiet, trying his best not to look relieved as Aras strode to the front of the stage, taking his place beside Ebony without hesitation. Without a second thought, without any hint of blame towards Emilio for choosing him, or towards Barric for not volunteering to take his place. He even managed to smile as he held out his hand to Ebony, then, when she grasped it, pulled her into a hug, instead.

His smile remained even when the cameras were gone. His arm still draped around Ebony's shoulders, he turned towards the three of them who remained. "So … looks like it's not my turn to mentor this year."

Barric couldn't help a smile. He turned to Nerys. "Charlie and I will mentor."

"Are you sure?" Nerys asked gently. "You haven't mentored since—"

"I'll be fine," Barric insisted. "Stay here. You've earned it."

 _You've earned it._ As if the rest of them hadn't earned a life of peace and quiet. But he was safe. Aras was the one going into the Games. So mentoring was the least he could do…

"I'll take Ebony," Charlie offered. Barric nodded. Maybe that made sense. The two girls were closer in age, as were he and Aras. But as far as personalities went…

Ebony already looked a bit uncomfortable, a fact that wasn't lost on Aras. "Aw, and I was about to ask if you'd be _my_ mentor," he pouted over-dramatically.

Charlie giggled a little before conceding. "All right, then, I suppose. If that's all right with you, Ebs."

Ebony nodded, casting a grateful smile at Aras as the two of them were led away. Barric leaned back in his chair, breathing slowly. One more time. He could mentor one more time…

Except it wouldn't be just one more time – not unless Aras or Ebony came back. He couldn't very well ask Nerys to come back to mentoring, and it wouldn't be fair to ask Charlie to mentor alone. If Aras and Ebony died…

Barric shook his head. It was his job to make sure that they didn't. Or, at least, that one of them didn't. One of them was going to die; that much was certain. But not both of them. Not if he had anything to say about it.

The problem was, of course, that he wasn't sure he did.

* * *

 **Ebony Kracov, 19  
** **Victor of the 72** **nd** **Hunger Games**

Had there ever really been any other choice?

Ebony took another deep breath, pacing the length of the room again. Maybe there had never been a choice. Maybe there had never been any other option. Maybe the Capitol had had it in for her from the start. First her older sister, then her parents, and now…

Now her, unless she managed to survive the Games again. Ebony clenched her fists. If they had wanted her dead, they could have killed her in the arena three years ago. Why would they let her live then, only to kill her now? Maybe it was just bad luck.

But that was a _lot_ of bad luck.

Finally, the door opened, and Kyla rushed in. For a moment, none of the rest seemed to matter. Kyla was safe. Safe forever. That was the only good thing about the Quell; there had been no chance that her sister would be reaped. No chance that she would lose the only family she had left.

Instead, her sister might lose _her_. Whether that was better or worse, Ebony honestly wasn't sure. Their parents' death had hit Kyla hard. If she lost Ebony now…

Ebony swallowed hard. She would just have to make sure that didn't happen. She would have to come home. She would have to.

If only it was that easy.

Kyla threw her arms around Ebony, each of them trying to hold back their tears for the other's sakes. It had only been three years ago that they had sat here, in this same room, saying goodbye for what she had thought might be the last time.

And for her parents, it had been. Kyla had been the one to meet her at the train station, the one who had told her that their parents were dead. A tornado, the Peacekeepers had said, but she knew better. They all knew better.

But no one dared say it. Because as long as she stayed silent about the reason for her parents' deaths, she could pretend that the Capitol might not be targeting her. That her parents' actions might not be the reason she had been chosen for the Games once again. And she couldn't begin to think that – even for a moment.

Because if they were targeting her, if they had chosen her on purpose, then she was dead. It was as simple as that. If she was merely unlucky, then there was a chance – however small – that this wasn't goodbye. That she would see her sister again.

And, for that chance, she was willing to do anything.

* * *

 **Aras Everett, 63  
** **Victor of the 30** **th** **Hunger Games**

There wasn't really any other choice.

Aras smiled a little as the door opened and his family poured in. His wife, Mia. Their children, Dalton and Leah. Dalton's wife Helena and their daughter, Milena. Leah's daughter and son, Anna and Elmer. So many faces. So many tears.

Immediately, Aras threw his arms around Mia. "Why all the sad faces? I'll be back here before you know it." He swept Milena up in his arms. "Remember that time I was in District Four for a few weeks? When I learned how to swim?"

Milena nodded eagerly. "And you dove off a cliff?"

Aras beamed back. "That's the one. Well, this is just like that."

It wasn't, of course. Going back into the Games wasn't like a swimming lesson from Galen and Murray in District Four, or cave-diving with Bardolph in District Two. But if they could pretend, for at least a moment, that it was, then maybe…

Maybe they could be happy. Just for a moment. Just a little longer. Maybe his last moments with his family – and their last memories of him – could be filled with laughter instead of tears.

Catching on, Leah brushed the tears from her eyes and put on a smile. "Remember the time we saw a tornado?"

Aras grinned. How could he forget? It had been five – no, six – years ago. A real tornado, not like the one the Peacekeepers had invented as an excuse to kill Ebony's parents. Tall and towering and beautiful, out on the borders of the district. They had gotten as close as they dared – and then a little closer – and simply watched as the funnel plowed through the fields, leaving the district untouched but in awe of its power.

"Remember the bird's eggs we hatched?" Milena piped up, and proceeded to recount the story – how she had found three eggs alone in the fields, covered by a pile of feathers, the mother bird killed by a fox or a wolf or some other predator. They had taken the eggs and hatched them, then raised the little hawks until they were old enough to take care of themselves.

One after another, each of them spoke up with a memory. Some large, some small, all beautiful. Aras grinned up at his family, soaking it all in. Maybe he would be dead in a week or so, but that didn't change the fact that he had _lived_. His life had been long, and good, and wonderful.

And he wasn't ready or it to be over.

* * *

" _For some people, small, beautiful events are what life is all about."_


	13. District Ten: Survival

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** First of all, my apologies for being so late with this update. I blame our school play, which was a lot of fun but also very time-consuming. But we had our performances this past weekend – Our cast was awesome! – so I've got a lot more free time now. Also, I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo again this year, so that'll help, too.

Just a friendly reminder to keep an eye out for allies as we near the end of the reapings, and PM me if you see a good match.

Thank you to _LokiThisIsMadness_ and _ElementalEvolution_ for Irina and Gareth, respectively, and to c _hocolate chip homicide_ and _MornieGalad Baggins_ for Aramanth and Robben.

* * *

 **District Ten  
** **Survival**

* * *

 **Aramanth Blackwood, 48  
** **Victor of the 44** **th** **Hunger Games**

One out of three.

Aramanth clenched her fists tightly as she made her way to the district square. One out of three – those were the odds that she would be going back into the Games. Not great odds, but they were the best she could ask for in a non-Career district. District Ten had six Victors, all still living – three male and three female. The highest number of Victors in any non-Career district.

Maybe it wasn't all that surprising. Tributes from District Ten had a reputation for their grit, their willingness to do what was necessary. It was a reputation that perhaps she'd had a hand in earning. Try as she might to move past it, she was still remembered – both in District Ten and in the Capitol – as the Victor who had dismembered her district partner's corpse and fed it, bit by bit, to a pack of wolf mutts in order to gain their trust.

People didn't easily forget that sort of thing.

Not that they blamed her – either in District Ten or in the Capitol. The Capitol was simply happy for the entertainment, and the people in District Ten … well, they understood. They understood that the boy had never stood a chance. That, after he had been gored by mutts, killing him had been the merciful thing to do. Most of them understood that, in her place, they would have done the same thing.

And maybe that was the difference. Tributes from Ten didn't _enjoy_ the Games the way the Careers did, but they were almost always willing to fight. To kill. To accept what had to be done to win the Games, and to do it without hesitation or squeamishness.

Maybe it was the fact that most tributes had – at one point or another – helped their family slaughter livestock, or at least seen it done. Maybe it had something to do with the hard work that most of them grew up doing – in the barnyard, on the ranch, in the slaughterhouse. Physical labor, exhaustion, determination – these had been nothing new to her, nor to most of her tributes since.

Her tributes. Aramanth nodded to Gareth as he joined her on the way to the square, with his wife Mel and their adopted daughter Lara in tow. Gareth nodded silently back, but that simple nod contained everything Aramanth needed to know. No, he didn't want to talk about what was about to happen. No, he didn't want her to offer words of encouragement that they both knew would be empty. He was dealing with this in his own way, and so was she.

It was that sort of attitude that had gotten them both through the Games. There was no point in talking about what had to be done. They both knew what was coming. They both knew the odds. Talking about it wouldn't change anything, and empty hopeful words wouldn't make either of them feel any better.

Sometimes it was better to say nothing.

That was certainly an attitude shared by Robben, the next Victor to join them on the way, along with his daughter Noeliath. Aramanth managed a small smile, grateful that the district's persistent rumors had once again been proven false; Robben was very much alive. Maybe he'd only left his house in Victor's Village a handful of times since the last reaping, but he was still here. And that was what counted.

At last, their small group reached the district square, where Aster and Angus were already waiting onstage. Aramanth took a seat next to Angus, giving her mentor's hand an encouraging squeeze.

She hoped it wouldn't be him. Young and nimble, Angus had been clever enough to survive the Games more than five decades ago. But now…

And Aster – she was even older. The Hunger Games' sixth Victor was about as healthy and strong as could be expected from an eighty-six-year-old, but none of them were kidding themselves. If Aster went back into the Games, she was as good as dead. So was Angus.

The rest of them would stand a chance. Robben, Gareth, Irina. Even herself. She didn't _want_ to go back into the Games. But she could. And she would, if she had to.

Of course she would. It wasn't as if they had a choice. None of them did. But they did have a choice about _how_ they went back into the Games. Whether they went kicking and screaming – or whether they went determined to fight. To survive.

But, in the end, only one of them could survive. And two of them were going into the Games. Either Angus, Robben, or Gareth. And either Aster, Irina, or herself.

Finally, District Ten's most recent Victor, Irina, arrived, along with her wife and three children. Silently, Irina climbed the stairs to the stage and slid into a seat next to Aramanth. Aramanth nodded a little as Irina's family disappeared into the sea of faces in the crowd. So many families. All of her fellow Victors in Ten had children – and some of them grandchildren. How many families would be torn apart today across the districts?

Aramanth shook the thought from her head. No more than normal. Twenty-four families would be separated today. Twenty-three would be damaged forever. But that was no different than a normal year. Was this really any worse? Was it worse than choosing twenty-four teenagers – most of them unprepared – to fight each other? Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was even kind.

No. Not kind. But maybe fitting. Maybe they should have expected this. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe…

Aramanth watched quietly as District Tens' escort, Trixie Rudnick, joined them onstage. Trixie smiled a little, but not the silly, outrageous sort of smile that most people expected from a Capitolite. In fact, Trixie lacked most of the flair that the other escorts seemed to thrive on. If it weren't for her bright orange hair, she might have been mistaken for a citizen of District Ten. Plain, straightforward, and very down to business, she barely got out a "Hello, District Ten!" before heading straight for the first reaping bowl.

Aramanth's fingers wrapped tightly around the arm of the chair. Three slips of paper. One of them had her name on it. But only one. Only one of them was hers…

"Irina Cavell!"

Aramanth relaxed a little, but only for a moment. Beside her, Irina tensed, but slowly stood up. As she stood, however, all fear seemed to fade from her face, and a smile appeared. "Why thank you, Trixie," Irina beamed. "It's a privilege to once again represent District Ten in the Games."

No one was fooled, of course. Not Trixie. Not any of the other Victors. And certainly not the crowd. But maybe some of the audience in the Capitol would be impressed. And that, Aramanth knew, was what Irina was hoping for. She was already planning, already fighting to stay alive.

Aramanth was just glad she wouldn't have to fight her.

Trixie nodded a little, unfazed by Irina's remark, and proceeded to the second bowl. Aramanth glanced at her fellow Victors. Her own mentor, Angus. Robben, who had mentored alongside her for years. Gareth, the only tribute she had brought home. Trixie reached into the second bowl and quickly drew a name.

"Gareth Arch!"

A low grumbling noise – almost a growl – was the only response Trixie got as Gareth slowly stood up and took his place beside Irina, his face scrunched up in disapproval, giving no indication that he was going to attempt to play to the audience in the Capitol. Finally, he shrugged a little and held out his hand to Irina. _Let's get this over with_.

Irina shook his hand, and the crowd began to disperse, leaving only the Victors onstage. Aramanth turned to Robben. "You and me this year?"

Robben hesitated a little, but then nodded. They were the natural choice for mentors. Both Aster and Angus were older. Robben had been Irina's mentor the first time, just as Aramanth had been Gareth's. No point in changing what had already worked once.

But it could only work for one of them, Aramanth reminded herself as Irina and Gareth made their way to the Justice Building, without so much as a word to the rest of them. Only one of them could come home again.

But that was no different, either – not really. No different from any other year. Only one tribute made it home. More often than not, both died. This year wasn't any different. It was horrible. It was unfair. But it was no more or less horrible than any other year.

They would just have to get through it.

* * *

 **Irina Cavell, 32  
** **Victor of the 61** **st** **Hunger Games**

She would just have to work her way through this.

Irina took a deep breath as Sara entered, with their three children alongside. Sierra, Ilene, and Lian – three young children they had adopted from the district orphanage. She and Sara had meant to give them a better life – a better life than they'd had. Irina swallowed hard. She wouldn't let that dream end with the three of them losing one of their mothers. She couldn't.

So she would have to come home.

Sara wrapped an arm around Irina's shoulders, trying to hide the tears in her eyes. "I was hoping they wouldn't pick you," she whispered. "I was hoping your reputation in the Capitol would be enough to—"

"I know." She had been hoping the same thing, but being popular in the Capitol hadn't been enough to save her from the reaping. Now, whether by the Capitol's design or by sheer dumb luck, she was going back into the Games. And no amount of wishing was going to change that now. Irina managed a small smirk. "I guess they just liked me so much, they wanted me back."

"It's not fair."

Irina shook her head. "And what _would_ be fair? Sending Aster back into the Games? Or Aramanth? There is no 'fair' – not when it comes to the Games. It's just a matter of who's strong enough to survive the unfairness – and who isn't."

Sara nodded a little. "But you're strong enough to survive. You did it once."

 _So did the rest of them._ Each of the Victors she would be facing in the arena had already survived the Games once. As far as experience went, the odds were even.

But there were other areas where she had an advantage. She was still young, still strong. Still appealing in the eyes of most Capitolites. In the end, of course, it wasn't up to them. Her life was in her own hands. But having their support certainly wouldn't hurt.

Having her family's support, though – that was even more important. Irina wrapped her arms around Sara one more time. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Sara whispered, just as the Peacekeepers opened the door to fetch her and the children. Irina waited until they were gone, then leaned back and closed her eyes. She could make it back to them. And she would.

She just had to get through this.

* * *

 **Gareth Arch, 37  
** **Victor of the 53** **rd** **Hunger Games**

He would just have to fight his way through this.

Gareth clenched his fists as Mel and Lara made their way into the room, Lara half-carrying Mel until she reached a seat at Gareth's side. Once she was seated, however, Mel wrapped her arms around her husband. "It'll be all right."

 _No, it won't._ But he couldn't say it. Not to Mel. Instead, he simply held her as close as he could as Lara slid into a seat beside him. _It'll be all right._ It wouldn't. Not unless he won. Lara was eighteen – old enough to fend for herself – but Mel…

He had been hoping for good news a few weeks ago, when the President had made his announcement. He had known the Quell twist would be announced, of course, but he had been hoping for another announcement, as well. From their scientists, their doctors. He'd been hoping they had found a cure for Mel's illness – or at least a cause. Instead…

Instead, his life was now in danger, as well. For the next few weeks, he wouldn't be there to care for Mel. He might never be there for her again. If he died…

"Take care of each other," Gareth said at last.

"We will," Lara nodded immediately, her jaw set. "Until you get back."

Gareth swallowed back a lump in his throat. Whether Lara honestly believed he would be coming back, or whether she was simply trying to put on a brave face, he wasn't sure. She was certainly no stranger to how cruel life could be. She'd survived on the streets for years before Gareth and Mel had adopted her. She wasn't deluding herself.

Which left two options. Either she was simply trying to be brave for her mother's sake, or she honestly believed he had a chance. And if _she_ believed it…

Then maybe he did. His chances were certainly no worse than they had been during his first Games. And he had survived. Gareth nodded a little. _All right, then._

"Until I get back."

* * *

" _We are programmed to survive. We have the ability to develop in any way necessary to ensure that survival."_


	14. District Eleven: Nothing

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Almost done with the reapings! Thank you Camp NaNoWriMo!

Thank you to _Reader Castellan_ and _klismaphilia_ for Ira and Jani, respectively, and to _Miss Spring1_ and s _antiago . poncini20_ for Irina and Hylan.

* * *

 **District Eleven  
** **Nothing**

* * *

 **Irina Powell, 25  
** **Victor of the 66** **th** **Hunger Games**

It didn't quite seem fair.

Irina closed her eyes as she ran her fingers along the arm of the chair, trying to ignore the crowd that was gathering. Trying to pretend that if she ignored them, they might simply go away. They might leave. Their escort might leave. The reaping might not happen.

There was no chance of that, of course. Ten reapings had already gone off without a hitch. She had watched every single one from the comfort of her own house in Victors' Village, hoping for some sign of resistance. Some hint that the others wouldn't simply go along with the Capitol's plan. But, aside from a slight dissonance in District Five, there didn't seem to be much resistance to the idea of Victors going back into the arena.

On the one hand, maybe that made sense. Maybe the people in the districts were simply relieved that, for the first time in seventy-five years, their children would be safe. There would be no teenagers in the arena – or, at least, very few of them. A few of the younger Victors had been chosen, but certainly there would be no twelve-year-olds this year. No families mourning the loss of a particularly young child and their potential.

Which was the real tragedy of the Games, of course. Not just the lives lost, but the lives cut short. Everything that could have been, everything that twenty-three children could have been. Should have been. Everything they would have accomplished – gone in an instant.

So maybe this was better. Maybe it was better that the people dying this year had … well, had their chance. Or, at least, more of a chance than the tributes in a normal year. Maybe the districts – maybe even some of the Victors – recognized that. Maybe that was why everyone seemed so complacent.

On the other hand, though, it was still very far from fair. She'd had a chance to live, yes – her and the other Victors – but she'd already lived through the nightmare of the arena once. Didn't that earn her the right to live the rest of her life in peace?

No. No, there was no peace. Would be no peace. Whether it was children dying or Victors being forced to play the Games once more, the slaughter would go on, because there was no way to end it. No way to change the power the Capitol held over the districts. If even the Victors could be sent back into the arena without any fuss, what hope was there for anyone else?

Irina opened her eyes, scanning the faces in the crowd, hoping for some change in their usual mood. But there was only resignation. Recognition of the inevitable fact that the Capitol had the power to simply do as they pleased. And there was nothing they – or anyone else – could do to change that.

One by one, the other Victors arrived, forming a small group onstage. Irina exchanged an uneasy glance with Ira, District Eleven's only other female Victor. One of them would be going back into the arena. The other would be mentoring. There were no other options.

The same was true for the male Victors – Hylan and Jani. One tribute and one mentor. District Eleven's only other Victor, Miles, had committed suicide years before she was born. Only four Victors remained, all of whom would be making the trip to the Capitol.

But not all of them would return. Irina looked away as the others took their seats, silent. There was nothing they could say. Nothing they could do.

Nothing but wait.

They didn't have to wait long. Once the four Victors had arrived, District Eleven's escort, Hal MacKinney, didn't hesitate to begin. It didn't seem to matter that the crowd was still trickling in, or that the cameras had only been rolling for a few minutes. Hal, as usual, was simply anxious to get on with the show. The sooner they began, the sooner he could be far away from District Eleven.

And maybe his paranoia wasn't completely irrational. District Eleven had a bit of a reputation for rebelliousness. It was a reputation that had dulled over the years, but the Capitol was slow to forgive the important part they'd played in the rebellion. It was no coincidence, most reasoned, that it had taken more than two decades for District Eleven to claim a Victor. Miles Carrow, District Eleven's first Victor, had won the twenty-fourth Games. More than twenty years later, Hylan had won, bringing their total to two while other districts could claim three or even four Victors, and District One already had eight. But two soon returned to one when Miles was found dead shortly after Hylan's victory.

Since then, District Eleven had done a bit better, but their Victor pool was still quite small. Only four slips of paper lay in the two reaping bowls onstage. Four names. Two of them would be going back into the Games.

And two of them would almost certainly die. Irina shook her head. Maybe that was the wrong attitude to have – especially when she could very well be one of those two – but what were the chances that District Eleven could pull off a Victory during a Quarter Quell? A Quarter Quell where Careers like Hadrian and Demetrius and Cedra would be in the arena. A Quarter Quell where three Careers had _volunteered_ to go back into the arena. What chance did the rest of them have?

Hal seemed to agree with her, and flashed a sympathetic look their way as he approached the first reaping bowl. Maybe most people in District Eleven made him jumpy, but he knew the four of them well, and had clearly grown fond of them. Maybe he even cared for them, in a way.

But that didn't stop him from doing his job. Irina held her breath as Hal reached into the first bowl and drew one of the two slips of paper, unfolding it so quickly, she was sure it would tear. "Ira Hope!"

 _Don't smile_. Irina turned towards Ira, trying not to look relieved. Trying not to appear grateful that it hadn't been her name. Ira sat still for a moment, frozen, as tears started to slide down her cheeks. Slowly, though, she stood, brushing away the tears, trying not to look as terrified as Irina knew she must feel.

Hal smiled a little as Ira took her place beside him, and even gave her a little pat on the back before heading to the second bowl. Ira glanced over at Hylan and Jani as Hal drew a second name. "Jani Aramine!"

For a moment, there was only silence. At last, a quiet sound escaped Jani's throat. It sounded almost like a laugh. Slowly, he stood, still chuckling a little, but Irina could see the tears in his eyes. As he took a step forward, he swayed a little, trying to get his bearings, as if he was suddenly dizzy or faint.

Ira was at his side in an instant, helping him forward. Jani wrapped an arm around her shoulders and joined her at Hal's side, staring out at the crowd, trying to smile. Hal nodded to the cameras, which switched off almost immediately. Nothing more to see in District Eleven.

Irina turned to Hylan, who nodded silently, his eyes on the crowd. On his wife and children. A family he would be returning to.

And she would be returning, as well. But first, they had a job to do. "Who would you…?" Irina started.

Hylan shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me." Irina nodded a little. He'd mentored both Ira and Jani during their Games, while she had yet to bring home a tribute.

"Well, I'll take you, then," Jani offered, ruffling Irina's hair.

Irina smiled a little despite herself. "Are you sure? I—"

Jani nodded. "Oh, I'm sure. I already had to put up with Hylan as my mentor once." He flashed a smirk in Hylan's direction. "Ira can have him."

Irina hesitated. Was he trying to insult Hylan? Was it a joke? Or was he simply trying to be kind? She was never quite sure, but everyone else seemed perfectly fine with the arrangement – or, at least, as much as could be expected when two of them had just been condemned to a death match.

Irina watched as Jani and Ira were led away. Once they were gone, Hylan let out a sigh. "Congratulations."

Irina hesitated. That seemed like an odd thing to say, but … well, maybe congratulations _were_ in order. They were safe, after all.

But it wasn't as if they had done anything to earn it. It had been luck. Sheer, dumb luck that had happened to be in their favor this time. "You, too," Irina said at last. But it still felt wrong to be relieved. It could have been her going back into the arena. It could have been him. If Hal had chosen the other piece of paper…

But he hadn't. She was safe. And Hylan was safe. Safe from the Games forever.

Irina shook her head as the two of them headed for the train. That was what she had thought nine years ago, when the fanfare had sounded and she had been lifted out of the arena. She had thought that she was safe. But as long as the Capitol was in control, any safety they thought they had was really an illusion.

But maybe that was better than nothing.

* * *

 **Jani Aramine, 32  
** **Victor of the 59** **th** **Hunger Games**

It was better than nothing.

Jani drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair as his aunt Kalani, his only remaining family, was led out of the room. Their visit had been short, and more than a little awkward. Neither of them knew quite what to say. But it was better than having no visitors at all.

And he couldn't exactly blame her for not knowing what to say. He'd also been unable to find the right words. Or any words at all. Slowly, he glanced around the room – the same room he had sat in sixteen years ago. It didn't quite seem real. As if his mind couldn't quite accept that this was happening again.

Again. He was going back into the arena again. He had barely survived the Games the first time. After fleeing the bloodbath, he'd spent most of the Games holed up in the navigational room of the ship, waiting for someone to find him. Waiting for the end.

When someone finally came, he panicked. He acted on instinct. But he still remembered it clearly. He remembered the sound the other boy's crowbar had made as it hit the floor near his head. He remembered grabbing the weapon, wrenching it from the boy's grasp. He remembered the two of them tumbling over each other until the crowbar found its way through the other boy's throat.

He remembered the blood.

That boy had been his only kill, but one was enough. One was more than enough. How could they expect him to do that again? How could they expect him to survive?

The simple answer, of course, was that they didn't. No one expected him to survive. Not the Capitol. Not the rest of the district. Not his fellow Victors. Probably not even his aunt. No one had expected him to survive the first time, and he hadn't exactly become a hardened killer in the interim. Whatever chance he still had, it was slim.

But that was better than nothing.

* * *

 **Ira Hope, 36  
** **Victor of the 54** **th** **Hunger Games**

Any chance was better than nothing.

Ira wrapped her arms around her legs, trying to hold back the tears as the door closed behind her parents, just as it had twenty-one years ago. It was the same building. The same room. Even the tears tasted the same as they had then. The fear was the same.

No. Not quite the same. Last time, she had been afraid, of course. But she hadn't really had any idea of what to expect. She'd seen the Games onscreen, of course. Everyone had. But that wasn't the same. She hadn't known what the Games would do to her. What they would force her to become.

Now she knew. She knew what it felt like to kill – and she knew she never wanted to feel that again. And she had assumed, like so many others, that she would never have to. That, once her own Games were over, the Capitol would let her live the rest of her life in peace.

It wasn't fair. She already had too much blood on her hands. Blood she would never be able to truly wash away. Her own district partner, dead at her hands. And three more tributes. Three more teenagers. Three more children with hopes and dreams and families who loved them.

At least it wouldn't be children this time. But would that really make it any easier? Ira brushed the tears from her eyes. No. No, this wasn't any better. Because at least the first time, the other tributes had been strangers. She'd had allies, yes, but they'd only known each other for a few days before the Games. Even her district partner had been a stranger to her before the reaping. This time…

This time, she would know most of the tributes – at least in passing. She'd mentored for more than a decade before Irina's victory had relieved her of her duties. She knew most of the other Victors, and the rest she had at least met during one Victory tour or another. And Jani…

No. No, she wasn't ready to think about that. Jani, who had mentored alongside her for years. Jani, who always seemed to be able to smile despite what they had been through. Jani, who would have to die if she was going to come home again.

Ira buried her face in her hands. This was worse than the last time. This time, she knew exactly what would have to happen. Exactly who would have to die. This time, she knew exactly how it would feel. And it was worse.

Maybe knowing nothing was better, after all.

* * *

" _Planets come and go. Stars perish. Matter disperses, coalesces, forms into other patterns, other worlds. Nothing can be eternal."_


	15. District Twelve: Sense

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Finally done with the reapings! Yay! On that note, a couple things.

First, there's a poll up on my profile asking which tributes are your favorites. It'll stay up until the end of the train rides in case you'd like to see each of the tributes again before voting.

Second, make sure to let me know if there's a particular alliance you'd like to see - whether for your own tribute or just in general.

Lastly, thank you to _HestiaAbnegation11_ and _Jalen Kun_ for Silvesta and Felix, respectively, and to _Axe Smelling God_ for Henley.

* * *

 **District Twelve  
** **Sense**

* * *

 **Moira Campbell, 79  
** **Victor of the 14** **th** **Hunger Games**

She never thought she would live to see this.

Moira wrung her hands together as the four of them sat around the table – herself, Silvesta, Felix, and Henley. District Twelve's four Victors, now that her own mentor, Esteban, was gone. Only a few years had passed since then, but District Twelve already felt a bit emptier.

Of course, that hadn't been the only recent change in District Twelve. Only two years ago, she had brought home District Twelve's fifth Victor – and their second in less than a decade. Henley and Felix. Moira shook her head as she glanced around the table at the two of them. They were so alike, the pair of them. Moody. Temperamental. But a bit of that anger seemed to be dulled today, smothered in resignation.

Felix's mood wasn't likely to change. Henley, at least, had a one in three chance – the same as any of the female Victors. But Felix – the only living male Victor – already knew his fate. He was going back into the Games. The only question was whether he had any chance of coming back out again. And after what had happened during his Games…

Moira shook the thought from her head. Surely the Gamemakers wouldn't hold that against him. After all, if they had it in for every Victor who had been angry at the Capitol after their Games, who would be left?

Certainly not her. It had been years – more than sixty years – but the thought of those sewers still made her skin crawl. The things she had done – the things the Capitol had forced her to do – still gave her nightmares. Age had begun to dull her memories of the time before the Games, but there were some memories that would never fade.

The younger Victors still didn't quite understand that. Felix locked himself away in his house, often refusing to see anyone – even his fellow Victors – believing that might dull his pain. Henley had taken the opposite approach, throwing herself back into the district, helping to rebuild the orphanage where she had grown up, doing everything she could to distract herself from her memories. Maybe to atone for them.

And then there was Silvesta. Silvesta, who sometimes seemed to be forgotten both in the districts and in the Capitol. District Twelve's only Victor in the fifty-three year span between the 14th and 67th Games. Maybe it wasn't fair, but, most of the time, Silvesta didn't seem to mind being overlooked. She had mentored only once, accompanying Moira to the 73rd Games only a few months after Esteban's death. But Henley's victory had provided a new mentor, and Silvesta had retired to her books once more. Maybe she preferred it that way.

But not this year. This year, all four of them would be going to the Capitol. Two tributes, two mentors. They would all be needed if District Twelve was going to have even a chance of bringing home a Victor.

But would that be enough to give them a chance?

"I suppose it's time to go," Silvesta said at last, her voice surprisingly calm.

Moira nodded a little. Felix mumbled something but headed for the door, anyway, with Henley close behind. Moira lingered by Silvesta for a moment. "Are you all right?"

Stupid question. None of them were all right. None of them were going to be all right for a long while. At least one of them was going to die – probably two. Maybe her.

 _Maybe that would be best._ Of the four of them, maybe she would be the best choice. Felix and Henley were so young. Whether they realized it or not, they had so much ahead of them. And Silvesta – she had her daughter, Theresa, who quickly joined them as they left the house. Henley had her brother. Felix had his father. Moira's own family was long gone. Out of the four of them, maybe she was the best choice…

Moira shivered as she and Silvesta stepped out of the house and into the chilly air. Silvesta nodded a little. "I'm all right. It's just … strange, after all these years. Thirty years, and I've never had to worry at a reaping. You and Esteban always took care of the tributes, and I … I just went home. Went back to my life. But now…"

"It's strange," Moira agreed. "But you have a good chance."

Silvesta shook her head. "I have the same chance as you. The same chance as Henley. But that's not fair. It's only been two years since Henley won. And you…"

"Don't worry about me." Silvesta flinched a little, and Moira realized that had sounded a little harsher than she'd intended. "I'll be fine," Moira said, more gently this time. "If they pick me…"

"They shouldn't."

"We shouldn't be here at all," Moira countered. "None of this is fair. But it's the way things are, and there's nothing you can do to change that."

Silvesta nodded, but there was something in her face – something in her eyes – that made Moira look away. Thirty years after her own victory, Silvesta still didn't understand. Sometimes things were simply unfair. Sometimes the way things were was awful – but it was still the way things were.

Finally, the four of them reached the square and took their places onstage. Felix plopped down in the first chair, scowling out at the crowd. It wasn't their fault, of course – and he knew that as well as anyone – but he certainly wasn't going to pretend to be happy for their sake. Neither was Henley, whose expression was ice cold as she took a seat beside Felix. Trying to be strong. Trying to hide her fear.

Moira made her way slowly up the stairs, then took a seat next to their youngest Victor. Silvesta slid into the final seat as their new escort joined them onstage. The young woman was grinning, practically jumping up and down with excitement as she strode towards the microphone.

"Hello, District Twelve!" she called even before the microphone could pick her up properly. She grabbed the microphone and repeated herself. "Hello, District Twelve!"

Nothing. No response. Moira smiled a little. "Hello," she echoed quietly.

Their escort turned, beaming, towards the group of Victors. " _There_ we go. At least someone knows how to be polite." Feedback from the microphone filled the square as she turned back to the crowd. "My name is Celeste Sozen, and I'll be your escort this year – and hopefully for many more years to come."

"Fan _tas_ tic," Felix mumbled.

Celeste, unfortunately, mistook his remark as genuine. "Why, thank you, Felix. I'm excited, too. And I so _wish_ that you could all be here as long as I will. But, alas, this year we must say farewell to at least one and maybe even two of you." She wiped a tear from her eyes – or at least pretended to. "Happy Hunger Games!"

With that, she started towards the first bowl, which held three small slips of paper. Grinning eagerly, she reached in, swirled them around for a moment, and drew one. "Moira Campbell!"

Moira took a deep breath. Okay. Okay. _Get up._ Leaning a little on her chair, she started to stand, but, even as she did, a voice called out, "Wait! I volunteer."

Moira turned, startled, towards Silvesta. "Don't. Silvesta, it's—"

"I volunteer," Silvesta repeated, placing a hand on Moira's shoulder. "It's okay. Sit back down."

Startled, Moira did as she was told. Celeste was beaming, not quite sure what to say. District Twelve hadn't had a volunteer since … when? Had they _ever_ had one? Moira was fairly certain she would remember _that_ , at least. But Silvesta simply took a step forward, until she was standing beside their over-eager escort.

"Well, well, well, isn't this exciting?" Celeste gushed. "Thank you, Silvesta, for throwing a little _life_ into this reaping! Let's hear it for Silvesta!" Silence once more, but this time Celeste was undeterred. She simply stepped towards the second bowl, reached in, and drew the only slip of paper. "Felix Norwood!"

Felix was on his feet before she even finished the name, grunting a little but saying nothing. Ignoring Celeste, he held out his hand to Silvesta, which she shook immediately.

Celeste bubbled on for a few minutes, but, eventually, the cameras switched off and the crowd dispersed, leaving the four of them alone. Before Moira could say anything, Silvesta turned to Henley. "Will you be my mentor?"

Caught off-guard, Henley simply nodded. What else could she say? Felix simply cocked an eyebrow and turned to Moira. "Guess you're stuck with me, then."

"I guess so," Moira said quietly, too startled to think of a better response. Felix turned to go, and Silvesta followed, leaving Moira alone with Henley. "Why…?" Moira started, but wasn't even sure how that sentence should end. Why would Silvesta take her place? Volunteering for Henley – maybe that would have made sense. But her? How long did she have left, even without the Games? Why would Silvesta sacrifice herself for that?

It didn't make any sense

* * *

 **Silvesta Ardin, 47  
** **Victor of the 45** **th** **Hunger Games**

Everything was finally starting to make sense.

Silvesta leaned back in her chair as her daughter fled the room, tears in her eyes. She didn't understand. She couldn't. She had never been in the Games. She'd never had to kill. Never had to watch herself become a monster because the only other option was death.

There was no way to fix it. No way she could ever take that back. But there was something she could do now. Something that would make her life worth it. Something she could do both for a friend and for all of District Twelve.

And that was enough. Enough to convince her to go through with it. She'd been mulling it over ever since the Quell was announced, but hadn't quite been sure whether or not she'd have the courage to actually do it. When she'd considered ending it in the past, the thought of her daughter had been enough to stop her. But this time…

This time, her sacrifice would mean something. She wasn't blindly throwing her life away. She was saving a life. A life that meant so much to the district. They had lost Esteban only a few years ago, and that loss had hit the district hard – but the Victors most of all. They couldn't afford to lose Moira, too.

But her. Silvesta. They could afford that. She wouldn't be missed – except by her daughter. But, eventually, Theresa would understand. Eventually…

And Moira and Henley would be there to help her – to help the whole district. District Twelve's oldest living Victor and its youngest. They would live, even if she and Felix didn't. They would be there to help the district through what was coming, to help them make sense of it all.

And, eventually, they would understand.

* * *

 **Felix Norwood, 25  
** **Victor of the 67** **th** **Hunger Games**

He wished it didn't make sense.

Felix paced back and forth as the door closed, separating him from his father for what would probably be the last time. His father, who had been his rock ever since Felix had returned from the Games, angry and confused. Not that his anger had subsided, but his father always helped him control it. Channel it so that he didn't take out his frustration on the citizens of the district.

Because they hadn't done anything to deserve his anger – not for the most part, anyways. They weren't the ones who had sent the skeleton mutts to kill Ross. His ally. His friend. His…

Felix clenched his teeth. For a long time, he had been angry at everyone. At the Gamemakers, for killing Ross. At the Capitol, for letting it happen, for watching in amusement as Ross died. At the district, for doing nothing to stop it. Even at himself, for letting Ross get so close. Closer than he'd been to anyone before.

Closer than he would be to anyone again. He couldn't let the same thing happen to anyone else he cared about. Then again, "people he cared about" was a pretty short list by now. His father. The other Victors from Twelve, to some degree. But even them…

At least it would be Silvesta in the Games. He doubted that she would want to target him, or be stupid enough to think it was a good idea. So maybe it would be best to simply avoid her and whatever she had planned. If she indeed had any sort of plan apart from her own death.

Because that was undoubtedly the end goal. She could shroud it in an image of trying to save Moira's life, but the truth was that Silvesta had wanted this for a long time now, maybe without even knowing it was what she wanted. She'd been the only one who hadn't been furious about the Quell twist. Had she been planning this for that long?

Maybe. Maybe it didn't matter. Whether it was a careful plan or a spur-of-the-moment decision, Silvesta was going into the Games. She was going to die. And, in a way, he envied her. At least she'd had a choice. Even though it might not have been the choice he would have made, at least he understood it.

But part of him still wished he didn't.

* * *

" _Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense. You're just not keeping up."_


	16. Train Rides: A Vain Occupation

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to let me know if you have any particular alliance requests. I haven't gotten very many this time around, so I'll probably be able to accommodate whatever you've got in mind. (Within reason, of course.)

* * *

 **Train Rides  
** **A Vain Occupation**

* * *

 **Wisteria Cassava, 34  
** **District Three**

There was no point in trying to talk to them.

Wisteria shook her head as Euclid and Magnus continued to chatter at the table, each interrupting the other constantly, only half of their words discernible even from a few feet away. Whether it was because they didn't want to be understood or because neither of them was capable of forming a complete sentence, Wisteria wasn't sure. But it was probably the second one. They had no reason to suspect, after all, that anything she happened to overhear would be used against them.

It wasn't as if there were any secrets among the four of them. Not as if one of them had a master strategy that none of the others knew. For the most part, their strategies during their first Games had been roughly the same. They had kept to themselves, hidden from the other tributes, and taken the opportunity to kill when it had arisen. There was no trick to it – just a lot of luck.

And a lot of luck was what it was going to take if one of them was going to win again. Because this time around, the Capitol wouldn't want to see tributes hiding. They wanted to see Victors locked in a fierce battle to the death. They wanted blood. They wanted excitement. They wanted everything that tributes from District Three could rarely provide.

Wisteria sighed and retreated to her own room, leaving Euclid and Magnus at the table, still talking and munching away. After nearly two decades of mentoring, Capitol food no longer held the same excitement that it had when she'd been a tribute herself. There were some mentors, she knew, who looked forward to the few weeks of luxury that the Capitol provided – luxurious even compared to their own homes in Victors' Village. But the food, the clothes, the comfort – it wasn't worth the price. The terrible price…

"It all feels a little too familiar, doesn't it."

Wisteria glanced up to see Hypatia standing in the doorway. How many times had they taken this trip together – to the Capitol and back – as fellow mentors? Hypatia had been there the first time – when she'd ridden this train as a tribute, and then when she'd come back home a Victor – and every time since. And the old woman had gotten lucky; regardless of what happened in the Games, she would be riding the train back to District Three in a few weeks.

Wisteria shook her head. "A bit too familiar and a bit too different at the same time. Being a tribute again – but this time knowing what's coming…"

And that was the worst part – knowing. Knowing what was coming. Knowing that she would have to fight, to kill … and knowing that she _could_. When she had sat on this train the first time, she'd had her doubts. Her questions about whether she would be able to do what was necessary, when the time came.

But she had. They all had. And now she was going back into the Games with the knowledge that she was fully capable of what was being asked of her.

And that made it worse, in a way. This time, if she failed, she couldn't blame it on her inexperience, her hesitation. She couldn't blame it on the Gamemakers' actions or a failure to pay attention. She – and every other Victor in the arena – knew exactly what was coming. Exactly what sort of tricks to expect from the Gamemakers. Exactly what the sponsors wanted to see. And if they failed – no, _when_ they failed – it wouldn't be the Gamemakers' fault. It would be their own.

No. No, not entirely. It was still the Gamemakers' fault, the Capitol's fault, the president's fault, that they were in the arena in the first place. They couldn't blame themselves for that. And this time, she couldn't even blame it on the fact that she'd taken out a large amount of tesserae. No, this time her chances had been the same as Hypatia's.

Wisteria looked away. It wasn't Hypatia's fault, either. Not really. The only thing Hypatia was guilty of was not volunteering, and there was no way Wisteria could blame her for that. Would she have volunteered, if Hypatia had been chosen? Would she have gone back into the Games to save her own mentor's life?

No. No, she wouldn't have. So how could she expect that of someone else? No one in District Three had ever been crazy enough to _volunteer_ to enter the Games. No one.

And maybe that had contributed to their reputation for … hesitance? Skittishness? Cowardice, maybe? Whatever it was, District Three certainly didn't have a reputation for throwing themselves into the Games willingly. Every other district, it seemed – even the non-Career ones – had picked up one or two volunteers over the years. Not many, but enough that, every so often, they made an impression.

District Three had never made an impression. Not really. And, most of the time, they were content with that. Their own style, their own way of playing the Games, had brought home nearly as many Victors as any other non-Career district.

But it wouldn't be enough this time. Their way of playing the Games – _her_ way of playing the Games – wouldn't be enough. This wasn't what the Capitol was looking for.

"It's different this time," Wisteria said softly.

Hypatia nodded, taking a seat next to her on the bed. "Everything's different. The tributes. The arena. The—"

Wisteria shook her head. "That's not what I meant. I meant … once we're in the Games … it'll have to be different this time. _I'll_ have to be different. The way I won last time … it won't work again."

"You don't know that. Maybe—"

"Yes, I do. I know it, and so do you." She leaned forward a little. "We have to play differently this time. Or we're going to lose."

We. The words came so easily. Thinking of Hypatia as her ally, her friend, was so natural. But Hypatia wouldn't be in the arena with her. They could afford to be a team. And right now, maybe she needed all the help she could get.

Hypatia hesitated for a moment, letting Wisteria's words sink in. She had almost certainly been thinking the same thing, but had been waiting for Wisteria to acknowledge it first. At last, she nodded a little.

"What did you have in mind?"

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 21  
** **District Four**

"What did you have in mind?"

Cedra glanced up, surprised by Elias' question. He was expecting an answer already, as if she should already have some sort of strategy in mind. As if she should already know exactly who her allies were going to be, exactly what she was going to do once she was in the Games. As if she'd already had ages to plan her next move.

And maybe she had. They'd known about the twist for weeks, after all. She could have been planning. Could have at least been thinking about what she _might_ do, if she was chosen.

But she hadn't. She had been hoping – desperately – that they would pick someone else. Or that someone else would volunteer, even if her name was called. And now here she was, with no plan. No strategy. No allies. And, after the fiasco at the reaping, practically no chance of winning over anyone in the Capitol.

"I don't know," Cedra admitted. "Most people will be expecting the Careers to stick together, but Galen … I don't know if he'd want me, and I don't know if the others would want either of us, and—"

Elias cut her off. "Okay, then, let's start there – finding out who the others are." The two of them made their way to the next car, where Elias switched on the tape of the reapings.

But, as soon as the tape began, Cedra couldn't fight a sinking feeling in her stomach. District One had two volunteers. Two! Both of District One's tributes were ready and willing to go into the Games again.

Where they insane?

The situation in Two didn't seem any better. The woman wasn't a volunteer, but the man was – and quite an eager one, apparently. Young and strong and, from the look of it, perfectly willing to risk his life for another shot at the Games. Cedra shook her head. What could possibly prompt three tributes – even three Careers – to want to go into the arena again? Hadn't they had enough of the bloodhshed the first time? Hadn't they seen enough death?

She certainly had. Enough for a lifetime. She would have been quite content to stay as far away from the Games as possible. Unfortunately, everyone else in District Four seemed to share her sentiments. There had been no one willing to volunteer in her place – or in Galen's.

Maybe District Four simply had more sense.

District Three, certainly, seemed to have the right idea bout the Games. No volunteers there – and even a bit of crying. Wisteria and Euclid – she knew the two names, but little about them. Cedra shook her head, wishing that she had offered to mentor for a last year or two. Maybe she would know more people. Maybe that would help her…

But it was too late now. Too late so start forming friendships. And maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was better that she wasn't attached. Maybe she wouldn't be able to find any close allies, but that also meant that there was no one in particular who she would have qualms about killing…

Cedra shook her head as the tape moved on to District Four. Who was she kidding? She barely even knew Galen, and she knew already that she would think twice about killing him. Maybe about killing anyone. All of these tributes, after all, had made it through the Games once. Didn't they deserve to live the rest of their lives in peace?

Didn't she?

But the Games were never about who deserved it the most. If they were, then a Career would win every year, simply because they deserved it for putting in the time and effort to train. But that wasn't the way the Games worked. In fact, out of the last ten Games, only two Careers had won: Avery from District Two, and herself.

Cedra leaned forward a little, trying to focus as the reapings moved on. She was trying to pay attention – she really was – but there were so many faces. So many names that she knew in passing but couldn't really have matched with the people they belonged to. A few of the tributes stood out, though – mostly the more recent ones. The girl from Five – Shyanne – who had won three years before her. The boy from Seven – Clark – who had won the Games right before her own. The girl from Nine – Ebony – who had won the following year. And Felix, the boy from Twelve – the Victor four years before her Games. All of them would be back in the arena again.

In a way, that made her feel a little better. She wasn't the only recent Victor going back in. They hadn't spared her because she was a newer Victor – but they hadn't specifically targeted her, either. Maybe that was good.

No. No, not good. But a little bit better than it could have been. More recent Victors mean she wouldn't be the only one without connections. She wouldn't be the only one who was a stranger to most of the Victors. Maybe she could use that. Maybe the younger tributes could form some sort of an alliance…

But none of them were Careers.

Maybe that didn't matter. They were all Victors. All of them had killed. And as for the Careers – would they really want her? Aelin and Hadrian, Demetrius and Galen – would they really want her as part of their alliance? Or would they prefer people with more experience?

"So what are you thinking?" Elias prodded, clearly hoping for a decision. Maybe so he could call the other Careers and hear their thoughts on the matter. Cedra clenched her teeth. She didn't know. She didn't want to make a decision right now. Why did he have to be so pushy?

It had been so easy the last time. Elias had been her mentor then, too, but they'd had time to plan out their strategy. Volunteers in Career districts were selected weeks – sometimes months – in advance. She'd known who her district partner was going to be. She'd had at least some idea of what to expect from Districts One and Two. She'd gone into the Capitol knowing that she would have allies. Knowing that they would all be on the same page.

Now … everything was a question. Would they want her? Did she want them? Did she want to join the Careers? Did she want to find other allies – younger allies – who might be grateful to have an experienced Career in their alliance? Or had her display at the reaping ruined any hope that the tributes – Career or otherwise – would want her as an ally?

"I don't know," Cedra sobbed quietly, burying her face in her hands. "I don't know. I don't want … I don't … Just … just leave me alone."

Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised that he did.

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised.

Valion shook his head as the tape of the reapings switched off. He wasn't quite sure what he had expected, but maybe there was a part of him that had thought – that had assumed – that the Capitol would want as many of the more recent Victors in the Games as possible. Young blood, to keep things fresh. Who wanted to see a group of older tributes pretending to act like teenage killers again?

But the reapings had revealed a different story. The Capitol hadn't spared anyone because of their age. There were younger Victors going back in, yes, but there were also older ones. Maximus was only a year younger than him. Aelin and Aras, Galen and Hatchet – they were even older. But the Gamemakers didn't seem to care. Aelin, of course, had volunteered, but the other three…

Maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise. This was the same Capitol, after all, that routinely sent twelve-year-olds into the arena alongside eighteen-year-olds without batting an eye about it. Age didn't seem to matter to them.

Oh, they pretended. Older teenagers had their names in the bowl more times, it was true – at least in theory. In practice, a twelve-year-old with a large family who took out enough tesserae could have their name in the reaping bowl as many times as an eighteen-year-old who'd never had to take out tesserae to support their family. As it was, a family's status affected a child's chances of being in the Games more than their age did.

Which also skewed the chances of teenagers from the community home. In theory, children were only allowed to take out tesserae for themselves and their immediate family. But it was common knowledge that the rules were bent a bit when it came to orphans – and that a good portion of the community home's income actually came from the tesserae taken out by their children.

It wasn't entirely the community home's fault, of course. The meager allotment they got from the district wasn't nearly enough to run an effective home. And before Shyanne's victory, they didn't have many other sources of income. Occasionally, one of the well-off citizens would make a small donation, but those gifts were few and far between.

Shyanne had changed everything. The community home was now properly supplied, the children fed, the conditions livable. In the seven years since her victory, she had changed so many things in their district for the better. If they lost her now…

Valion glanced over at Shyanne, who was still watching the screen as District Twelve played, toying with the cookie in her hands, as if deciding whether or not to eat it. She'd already had several – as had he. One never really tired of Capitol food, even with the threat of the Games hanging over their heads.

District Twelve brought a surprise – a rare volunteer, as Silvesta stepped forward to take Moira's place. Then Felix was called – District Twelve's only living male victor. That didn't quite seem fair, but, on the other hand, maybe it was a mercy that Esteban had died when he did. He wouldn't have lasted an hour in the Games at his age.

"So what do you think?" Audric asked, his tone even, calm. Rufus, on the other hand, was already red-faced. Watching the reapings had been his idea. What had he been expecting? What had he hoped would happen? Had he thought some sort of revolution would unfold in front of his eyes?

If so, the reapings had been sorely disappointing. Most tributes had been visibly upset. A few had cried. The girl form Four had tried to run. But that was it. No rebellion. Nothing. The Games would go on.

Which meant he had to start thinking about how to survive them.

Valion turned to Shyanne, who was watching him in turn. Maybe she didn't want to be the first one to suggest it. But it made sense. He would never be able to kill her, and he was certain she felt the same. His experience, her youth. His patience, her energy. They were a natural team.

Someone might as well say so.

"What do you think of Cadaya?" Valion offered, purposely directing the question at Shyanne rather than back at Audric. "Or maybe Jani?"

"What do _you_ think?" Shyanne shrugged. "You've known them longer than I have."

That much was true, at least. But he knew them as mentors. Not as competition in a death match. But he also remembered their Games. Neither of them had killed until it was absolutely necessary. "I think they're good options."

"What about Silvesta?" Shyanne asked.

Valion hesitated. He didn't know Silvesta particularly well. As far as he knew, she'd mentored only once, and, even then, she'd kept mostly to herself. Chances were, no one outside of District Twelve knew her very well.

But, apparently, she knew District Twelve's older mentor, Moira, well enough to volunteer in her place. Which was undoubtedly what had caught Shyanne's attention. Valion had to admit, it had caught his eye, as well – but whether that impression was good or bad, he wasn't sure. Why had she volunteered? Had it simply been to save Moira's life, or was there something else going on? Something a bit more dangerous?

Was this what Rufus had been hoping for during the other reapings? If so, he had given no indication, but, still, there was a chance. What if Silvesta hadn't volunteered simply to save Moira's life? What if…

No. No, surely she knew better. Surely everyone knew that there was no chance of stopping the Games. She had volunteered to save her mentor's life; it was as simple as that.

But maybe that was enough. Maybe that was enough to catch Shyanne's attention, and maybe she wasn't entirely wrong. Someone who was willing to sacrifice herself for a friend could make a valuable ally…

Valion's stomach churned. He hated that he had already slipped right back into thinking of people as pieces on a game board, but what other choice was there? This was a game, after all. And it was a Game he meant to win … wasn't it?

Was it? Valion's gaze turned to Shyanne once more. If he was going to win, then that meant she had to die. Was he prepared for that? Was he prepared to watch her die just so that he could come home again?

 _Stop it._ There would be time for that later. They were still a long ways away from that – no matter how things went. Valion nodded a little. "I think she's a good option, too."

So they had choices.

* * *

 **Maximus Kellen, 52  
** **District Eight**

At least he had choices.

Maximus ran his hand along the arm of the couch as the reapings finished playing. Jasper sat in a chair nearby, while Cadaya and Darian huddled together on the other couch. It didn't take the pair of them long, however, to decide that it was best to leave. Neither of them was a good match for the other, so maybe it was best to acknowledge that now, before…

Before what? Before they got attached? If he hadn't gotten attached to Cadaya in the twenty-something years since her victory, what were the chances that it was going to happen now? Cadaya, on the other hand, might become attached to him. What if she was removing herself from the situation before that could happen?

Maximus shook his head. That wasn't important. Not really. The chances of the two of them coming fact to face in the arena were slim. The Gamemakers sometimes liked to drive district partners together to fight – or maybe just to see if they would – but things would be different this time. They _all_ knew each other. Cadaya wasn't any more likely to become attached to him than any of the other mentors she'd worked with over the years.

Maximus sighed. He'd done his best to avoid mentoring, ever since Jasper's victory. He was a bit unfamiliar with the younger Victors. Most of the older ones, he knew – the ones who had mentored at the same time he had. Valion. Hadrian. Aras. Did that mean they were the best options?

Or maybe … maybe it was a better idea to try to form an alliance with the younger tributes, the more recent Victors. Those whose skills would still be fresh. He would have to prove himself to them – that much was certain – but he could do that. There would be few enough tributes who would be ready to plunge right into the fray. Once they saw that he was willing to do what had to be done…

"What do you think of District Ten?"

Jasper's suggestion caught Maximus by surprise. Even when he and Gareth had been mentoring at the same time, they hadn't exactly known each other well. And Irina had won the year before Jasper; her first year of mentoring had been Maximus' last.

But if Jasper had suggested them, there was probably a reason. "What do _you_ think of them?" He hated relying on anyone for advice, but the truth was that Jasper probably knew the pair of them much better than he did.

"They're the sort of allies I'd pick," Jasper reasoned. "They're younger – but not so young that they're fresh out of their own Games. They both took the initiative during their own Games; they were willing to get their hands dirty. And that's something that might be in short supply this year."

Maximus nodded. So he and Jasper were on the same page, after all. "I'll definitely consider them," he agreed. "Who else?"

"Maybe…" Jasper started, but then seemed to reconsider.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Maximus shook his head. "Just say it. The worst you can be is horribly wrong."

Jasper smiled a little. "Maybe … well, the Careers might be looking for an extra tribute or two, given their options."

Maximus nodded. The Careers. He'd be lying if he said it hadn't crossed his mind. He knew Aelin and Hadrian well enough. Demetrius was one of the younger Career Victors, but maybe that was a good thing. And the others…

Would the others even be part of the Career pack? Freya hadn't seemed particularly eager at the reaping, and Cedra had practically fallen apart. And Galen…

Galen was a wild card. Always had been. And maybe that was a good thing, but he would also be one of the oldest tributes in the arena. Older than Maximus, older than Hadrian, and even older than Aelin. And he hadn't volunteered like the other Careers.

Maximus shook his head. The only thing that proved was that he wasn't completely insane. If there was anyone he should be suspicious of, it should be the ones who _did_ volunteer. The Careers who, after having been through the Games once, still wanted to go back in for … what? More glory? More fame? They already had everything they could ever want. What could be worth risking their lives for again?

But maybe it didn't matter. Maybe all that mattered was that they would be willing to play the Games. Certainly more willing than the ones who had started crying and screaming at the reaping. Maybe it didn't matter, in the end, _why_ they were there. Maybe all that mattered was what they were willing to do.

What _he_ was willing to do. Because if he was going to team up with the Careers, then he would be expected to act like a Career. How many times had he told tributes the same thing? Some had listened. Some hadn't. A few had joined up with the Careers, only for their allies to turn on them early on because they hadn't lived up to the pack's expectations.

So there was a danger in joining that Career pack – the danger that they might see him as extra baggage to be discarded at their earliest convenience. But it wasn't as if most of them were in their prime, either. All of them had quite a few years of mentoring under their belts.

Maybe that was a good thing, though. Maybe that combination of skill and experience would be enough to appeal to the audience. And that was an angle he could play. The audience would love for an outer district tribute or two to join up with the Careers – especially this year, when the pack was looking so small….

Maximus turned back to Jasper, nodding. "I'll think about that." And he would. But the truth was, he already had a gut feeling about it. And he'd learned a long time ago that gut feelings were usually worth listening to.

Because once the Games began, a gut feeling was usually all a tribute had left. Some had their training to fall back on, but, for most of them, their gut instincts had been enough to get them through the Games. Once they'd been separated from their families, their friends, the advice of their mentors – once all of that was taken away, all they had left was their instincts.

So maybe it was better not to fight it – that feeling that maybe Jasper was right. That even though he would never have dreamed of joining the Careers during his own Games, maybe it _was_ the best course of action now.

And maybe – just maybe – that would be enough to keep him alive.

* * *

" _I never fight against the inevitable; it's a vain occupation."_


	17. Train Rides: Reconsider

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Not much to say this time. Just a quick reminder to vote in the favorite tributes poll if you haven't already, and PM me about any alliance requests.

* * *

 **Train Rides  
** **Reconsider**

* * *

 **Camryn Cartier, 34  
** **District Six**

There wasn't anything they could do to stop it.

Camryn pulled her blankets tighter as she closed her eyes, trying desperately to sleep. She would need all the rest she could get before the Games. But, just as she had almost twenty years ago on this same train, she couldn't sleep. There were too many thoughts, too many questions, too many doubts.

She had thought it felt real before – when she was saying goodbye to her family, crying into their arms. But the truth was that she had been so overwhelmed by emotions – both theirs and her own – to really let it sink in. She was going back into the arena. She was a tribute again. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Camryn stifled another sob as her face pressed against her pillow. She had almost forgotten that feeling of helplessness – the same feeling that she'd hated during the Games. The knowledge that no matter what she did, no matter how hard she fought, no matter how clever or cunning or ruthless she became, the Capitol was still in control. In the end, they decided who lived and who died.

They pretended, of course. They rarely acknowledged that they had purposely killed a tribute. It was always an "accident." Always just chance that _that_ tribute happened to get caught in an avalanche or mauled by mutts. But everyone knew. If the Capitol wanted a tribute dead, nothing was going to stop them. They always got their way, in the end.

Except…

There were exceptions. Very few exceptions, but they were there. Evo was one. The Capitol had done everything in their power to try to kill him. They had sent mutts after him. They had driven other tributes towards him. Everyone had been certain he would die in the Games. But he had survived it all.

Until now.

And that was the catch. Whatever the Capitol had allowed in the past, whoever's antics they had put up with, that was all over now. Their last opposition – the few Victors who had voiced any sort of dissent – would be crushed, leaving only those who supported the Capitol and those who were too frightened to say anything.

At least, that was the theory. But there was something else. Something that had been gnawing at her ever since she, Evo, Ravi, and Merril had sat down to watch the rest of the reapings. She had been certain that the Capitol would target anyone who had been critical of the Games. Anyone who had spoken out against them.

And, sure enough, most of the more vocal opponents of the Games had been reaped. Ebony, whose parents had staged an unsuccessful strike in opposition of the Games. Felix, who had nothing but contempt for the Capitol after what had happened to his ally, Ross. Evo. Even Barnabas from District Two – although his brother had stepped in to take his place. Everyone who had spoken against the Capitol, who had acted even remotely rebellious … with one important exception.

Rufus. She still wasn't sure how he'd managed it – whether it was an oversight by the Capitol or an intentional omission – but Rufus had been spared. And it wasn't as if they'd reaped someone even more rebellious in his place. Valion was no Capitol loyalist, that was certain, but he wasn't the outspoken opponent of the Games that Rufus was.

So why hadn't he been reaped?

Camryn clenched her teeth. Maybe it shouldn't matter. But it didn't seem fair. She'd had her moments, after her own Games, where her hatred for the Capitol had been obvious. But not anymore. She'd learned. They had nothing more to fear from her, while Rufus had remained as outspoken as ever. And yet he was safe, and she was on her way back into the arena.

It wasn't fair.

But what if it wasn't a mistake? What if it wasn't simply an oversight? What if whoever was in charge of the reapings – and she was under no delusions that it had simply been chance – had decided not to reap him? If it wasn't a mistake, then what did that mean? Was the Capitol simply taunting them? Leaving him out of it to show that, even if they didn't kill him, he was still powerless to do anything?

Or was there something else?

Slowly, Camryn sat up. She wasn't going to be able to sleep – not with so many questions pouring through her mind. Slowly, she got up and made her way back to the dining car, where she was surprised to find Evo still awake. "Couldn't sleep?"

Evo shook his head. "Obviously. You would think it would be easier the second time around, but…"

Camryn nodded. It wasn't easier. She was older, yes. She'd had more of a chance to live her life. But that also meant that she had so much more to lose. All of them did. Well, most of them…

"It's funny how it all comes back," Evo muttered. "The memories. The first time I was on this train, I fought tooth and nail. They had to lock me in my room because I – I tried to jump off the train." He smiled a little. "Didn't do any good, of course, but at least I tried. It wasn't until they told me they'd arrested my sister that I … well, I calmed down a bit."

He shook his head. "Only a bit, mind you. I was still angry, but I kept it together, for her sake. I had something to live for – someone to protect. It's amazing how … how motivating that can be."

Camryn took a seat at the table, avoiding Evo's gaze. She knew the rest of the story. They all did. After Evo survived the Games, he had returned home to find that his sister had been executed, despite his cooperation. Camryn's stomach churned. She couldn't imagine that – fighting so hard for someone's life, only to lose them, in the end…

"Motivating, but also a bit … constricting," Evo continued. "When you have someone you're fighting for, you have to be careful. You have to watch your step – not only for your sake but for theirs." He let out a wry chuckle. "It's a strange feeling – having nothing to lose. It's almost … freeing."

Camryn nodded. Maybe he _did_ have nothing to lose. And maybe that was a good reason to stay as far away from him as possible once the Games began. This time, there would be nothing to hold him back. No one he needed to think about but himself.

For a moment, she almost envied him. Things would be so much simpler, so much more straightforward, if she didn't have anyone else to worry about. Maybe things would be different. Maybe she would even have the courage to go to Rufus and ask if…

But she didn't. She couldn't. She had her family to think of. Her parents. Her sister. Her husband. The life she had built for herself since returning to District Six. She couldn't throw all that away now, based on some blind hope that maybe – _maybe_ – Rufus would have a plan. She couldn't risk everyone she loved for a _maybe_.

Could she?

* * *

 **Ebony Kracov, 19  
** **District Nine**

There wasn't anything she could do.

Ebony shook her head as the tape of the reapings ended again, and she set it to repeat once more. She wasn't quite sure what she was looking for. She'd already watched the whole thing three times. Aras had left after the first time, Charlie after the second. Barric, though, still sat patiently with her. Waiting. Watching. Maybe hoping that, eventually, they would see something different.

But nothing changed. Reaping after reaping, nothing changed. Names were called, and the Victors, for the most part, stepped up willingly to take their places in the Games. A few she knew personally, but most were strangers. Still, she knew their faces. She remembered their Games.

The more recent ones, at least. And some of the others, she knew from bits of the previous Games that the Capitol replayed each year. Most of them were older now, of course. Some barely looked anything like the teenagers who had entered the Games the first time.

And maybe that was good, in a rather horrifying way. Victors who were older, Victors who were nowhere near their prime, would be easier to fight. Easier to kill.

At least in theory. In practice, she knew, she wouldn't want to go up against Aras, who was one of the oldest tributes in the arena. Then again, she didn't _want_ to go up against anyone. She hadn't wanted to kill the first time around, and that much, at least, hadn't changed. She had killed during her own Games, but she hadn't enjoyed it the way some tributes had. And she dreaded the thought of having to do it again.

But she would. They all would. They didn't have a choice. She wanted to live, and, in order to survive the Games, she would have to kill. She didn't like it any more now than she had three years ago, but the simple fact was that only killers made it out of the arena.

Except…

There _was_ one exception, and he was sitting next to her, quietly watching as one Victor and then another was called to what would almost certainly be their deaths. Barric had managed to out-hide the other tributes, despite the Gamemakers' efforts to help them find him. He had gotten lucky enough to cheat the Capitol once.

Ebony looked away, trying to avoid Barric's gaze. It didn't seem fair. He had gotten lucky then, and he had gotten lucky again at the reaping. He was safe, while she was going back into the Games.

And maybe it was intentional. Maybe the Capitol realized that he wouldn't give them a good show. Maybe Aras was simply a more interesting tribute. Or maybe it really _was_ pure dumb luck. Either way, it wasn't his fault that Aras had been reaped instead – no more than it was Charlie's fault that Ebony had been chosen.

And there was certainly no point in blaming each other, when they all knew who was _really_ to blame. No one said it out loud, but it was there in each Victor's eyes as they took the stage. Some fearful, some defiant, some furious. But almost all of them blaming the Capitol.

The problem was, of course, that there was nothing they could do about it. Nothing they could do or say that would stop the Games. And no one who would be willing to try. None of them were ready to risk their lives – not to mention the lives of their families and friends – for a chance that maybe, together, they could come up with a way to stop the Games.

It was an appealing idea, but it wasn't worth the risk. Maybe if it was just her life … maybe then. But it wasn't. It was never just one person's life. It was her sister's life. Aras' wife, his children, his grandchildren. Everyone they cared about.

There would always be people, of course, who thought they had nothing to lose. People who hadn't thought it through. But everyone had someone. Someone who would be at the Capitol's mercy if things went wrong in the Games.

And that thought – the idea of her sister dying at the hands of the Capitol – was enough to wash any thought of rebellion from her mind. Ebony clenched her teeth and turned her attention back to the reapings. What was she missing? What should she be looking for?

"So what are we looking for?" Barric asked, as if he'd read her mind.

Ebony opened her mouth to reply, but she didn't have an answer. After watching the reapings four times, she still wasn't quite sure what she was looking for. What she _should_ be looking for in an ally.

Because last time … No, she didn't want anything like last time to happen. She'd had two allies, and together, the three of them had made it far. But she'd killed them both, in the end – just like they'd wanted. They'd wanted to die together – and at her hands, rather than at the hands of someone less merciful.

Ebony turned to Barric. "I don't know," she admitted. "What sort of allies would you look for?"

Barric shook his head. "I'm not sure. During my Games, I had allies, but … well, I don't know if I would want that again. Watching them die … It was hard enough the first time, with people I barely knew. If my allies were people I'd known for years…"

"But I don't really know them," Ebony pointed out. "Any of them. I mean, I know Aras, but I doubt he'd want me as an ally."

"And what makes you say that?"

Ebony hesitated, a little taken aback. "You think he would?"

"Not particularly – I'm just wondering why _you_ think he wouldn't."

Ebony shook her head. She'd thought it had been obvious. She and Aras were complete opposites. But would that be a good thing or a bad thing in the arena? Was it better to have allies like her or allies whose skills and personalities would complement her own? Ryland and Emmalee's personalities, skills, ages – they'd been similar to her own. But that had ended…

Not badly. How could she say it had ended badly, when she had come out alive? But it certainly hadn't ended well.

Maybe it was better to look for something else this time. Some _one_ else. Someone different. Maybe even someone she wouldn't feel bad about killing, if it came to that.

Which ruled Aras out. "Maybe he would," Ebony admitted. "Maybe he wouldn't. But I don't … I don't want to end up having to kill him – not unless I absolutely have to. And I don't exactly have a … well, a great track record with allies."

"No one does," Barric pointed out. "Every Victor who had allies during the Games leaves with their allies dead. Whether they killed them, or whether they died at someone else's hands – maybe it doesn't really matter, in the end."

Maybe not. But that didn't change the fact that she didn't want to go through that again. She never wanted to kill an ally, a friend, again. And there was a part of her that wasn't sure she could. If she came up against Aras in the arena, would she really be able to kill him?

She wished she could be sure.

* * *

 **Jani Aramine, 32  
** **District Eleven**

There was nothing he could do about it.

Jani took a deep breath. Then another. Trying to stay calm. Trying to smile. Trying to act as if this weren't a big deal at all. As if he and Ira weren't on their way to their deaths.

And this trip would mean death – for at least one of them. Probably for both of them. There was no avoiding that. No escaping it.

He had tried to avoid it the first time. He had spent the entire time leading up to the Games dreaming of ways to escape. Ways to hide. Ways to get around the Games. Maybe there would be a blackout. Maybe there would be an earthquake that would destroy the Capitol. Maybe…

But there were no maybes this time. There were no more dreams. No more false hope. He couldn't afford to be that naïve a second time. He had to start thinking about how he _could_ survive. And that meant leaving behind any blind hope that the Games might not happen.

There was no chance of that, after all. No chance that the Capitol would simply call it off. No chance that the Victors would all refuse to fight each other.

Because it would have to be all of them. In order for any sort of protest – any sort of _rebellion_ – to work, it would have to come from them. And they would _all_ have to buy into it. Because otherwise the Gamemakers could simply target the tributes who didn't want to fight, leaving only those who were willing to kill each other to go home.

And there were certainly those who were willing. Some who had volunteered. Some who had been so vicious during their own Games, he had no doubt they would be willing a second time. Maybe not all of them, but definitely enough to fight it out even if the Capitol decided to kill the rest of them. The ones who weren't willing to fight.

Jani swallowed hard. He had to stop putting himself in that category. Once the Games began, he would _have_ to be willing to fight. He didn't have a choice this time. The Gamemakers had let him hide once – right up until the finale. But that wouldn't happen again.

"So what do you think?" Ira turned to him, expecting an answer.

Jani blinked. He hadn't heard the question – or, if he had, his mind hadn't registered it. "I … what? I'm sorry, I—"

"It's all right," Ira assured him. "I just wanted to know what you thought about … about the idea of us working together. As allies."

Jani nodded a little. It made sense. He couldn't imagine being able to kill her. And Ira … she'd had four kills during her own Games, including her own district partner. If he was looking for an ally who would help him give the impression that he was willing to jump into the fray and fight, it was her.

 _Including her own district partner._ Jani hesitated. She'd killed her district partner once. Was she offering to team up with him because she saw him as an easy target? Someone she wouldn't mind killing, if it came down to it?

 _Stop it._ That wasn't fair. Sure, she'd killed during her own Games, but so had all of them. If he was going to start ruling out allies based on who they'd killed the first time around, there wouldn't be anyone left. The only Victor with no kills to his name wouldn't be in the arena again.

Had that been intentional?

Jani glanced around at his fellow Victors. No. No, that couldn't be the case. If the Gamemakers had been intentionally choosing the Victors they thought would give the best show, spill the most blood, then why would they choose him over someone like Hylan? No, it was just dumb luck. Bad luck, to be sure, but luck nonetheless.

And luck was exactly what he would need if he was going to get out of it.

But allies would be helpful, too. Jani smiled a little. "Why not? Might as well stick together. Give District Eleven a better chance."

Ira nodded along. But they both knew that wasn't how it worked. It wasn't about giving District Eleven a better chance. The only thing he was worried about – or, at least, the only thing he _should_ be worried about – was giving _himself_ a better chance.

But would allying with Ira do that?

Jani shook the thought from his head. It was too late to go back now, so he might as well try to make the most of it. He leaned back a little in his chair, trying to seem at ease. Pretending everything was all right. Because if he pretended enough…

It usually worked. Usually, if he pretended that he was enjoying himself – and if he kept it up long enough – he actually ended up forgetting his troubles and having fun. Most of the time, he could forget that he was only alive because twenty-three children had died. The knowledge was still there, of course – somewhere in the back of his mind – but, for a while, he could forget.

Finally, though, the silence was too much. Having secured an ally, Ira seemed content to end the conversation there, and Irina and Hylan didn't seem to have much input. Jani tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. _Someone_ needed to say something. "Well, it could always be worse," he offered at last.

Hylan cocked an eyebrow. "How?"

A fair question, once he thought about it. Ever since the Quell twist had been announced, each of them had been convinced that it was the worst thing that could possibly happen. And it certainly seemed that way now. But there had to be something … something else that would be worse.

"It could have been all of us," Ira said quietly.

She was right, of course. The Second Quarter Quell had doubled the number of tributes. There was nothing to stop the Capitol from doing it again. Nothing to stop them from requiring that twice the number of Victors – or even _all_ of them – enter the Games again. "She's right," Jani agreed. "However this goes, at least District Eleven still has the two of you."

Irina bit her lip uncomfortably, nodding a little, but Hylan shook his head. "Oh, no you don't. You don't get off that easily. I brought both of you home once; you don't get to die just because you think the District doesn't need you."

"I didn't mean—"

"Do I look like I give a damn what you meant? You don't get to quit. You don't get to give up. You're going into that arena, and you're going to fight. And one of you is going to win." He shook his head. "And I'm not asking."

It wasn't that simple. And Hylan knew that as well as anyone else. But he had a point. This wasn't about District Eleven. This wasn't about Hylan and Irina. It wasn't even about Ira. This was about him and whether or not he was willing to fight to come home. Whether he was willing to kill. Whether he was willing to do what he hadn't the first time around – to plunge into the fight and strike first.

And, for a moment, it almost felt like he could.

* * *

 **Felix Norwood, 25  
** **District Twelve**

There was nothing they could do to stop him.

Felix turned his knife over in his hands, eyeing the meal in front of him. Everyone else was already eating. But he had never developed the others' taste for Capitol food. None of them had any love for the Capitol in general, but most of the other Victors seemed, at least, to enjoy the food. The wine. The luxury that the festivities afforded.

And maybe that was good. Maybe they might as well enjoy whatever good things they had left. But he had always found the festivities rather pointless. And if they had been pointless during his own Games eight years ago, they had even less significance now.

What was the point of the reaping? He'd known since the announcement that he was going to be the one in the Games. What was the point of training? What could they learn in three days that their time in the arena hadn't already taught them? What was the point of interviews when the entire Capitol – indeed, all of Panem – already knew who they were?

There was a part of him – a part that seemed to be growing with each tedious hour – that wished the Games had already begun. At least then, he could be _doing_ something. All this waiting – it only served to remind him of his first Games. And those were not memories he wanted to revisit.

"Felix?" Henley asked. "What do you think of—"

"No," Felix answered immediately, shaking his head.

"No?"

"Just saving you the trouble," Felix shrugged. "No, I don't think it's a good idea for me and Silvesta to be allies. No, I don't want to work together. And no, I don't mind if that means you want to leave to discuss things elsewhere – or if you want Moira and me to leave, instead."

Henley hesitated, clearly a bit taken aback. "I just thought that…"

Felix shook his head, turning to Silvesta. "It's nothing personal – honest. Having allies just didn't … well, it didn't work out so well for me last time."

"I understand," Silvesta agreed. "I guess we'll…" She rose to leave, and Henley followed her out of the train car.

Moira cocked an eyebrow. "Feel any better?"

"No." But he certainly didn't feel any worse, either. "You think I should have waited to tell her that?"

Moira shook her head. "No. If she's going to need to look elsewhere for allies, it's better for her to know that now. And I think it was the right decision; neither of you would have made a good ally for the other."

"There's no such thing as a good ally for me."

"Maybe."

Now it was Felix's turn to raise an eyebrow. He hadn't expected Moira to agree so readily. "That's not necessarily a bad thing," Moira pointed out. "I know you didn't want allies the first time around. I didn't have allies during my Games. Sometimes, people just work better alone."

Felix looked away. That hadn't been what he'd meant, and she knew it. "And as for it not working out well last time," Moira said gently, "no one wants you to go through that again."

"Except the Capitol," Felix spat.

"Except the Capitol," Moira conceded. "But even they don't always get what they want."

Maybe. Maybe not always. But usually. Generally, tributes were willing to play by the Capitol's rules because they realized it was the only way they would survive. The only reason this Quell was going to go off without a hitch was because even the Victors recognized the Capitol's power. They knew what the Capitol could do to their loved ones if they were even the least bit uncooperative.

So the Capitol would undoubtedly get part of what they wanted this time. They would have their fight. They would have blood. They would have tears.

But no tears from him. He wouldn't give them that satisfaction. He would fight – not because it was what they wanted, but because it was the only way he had even a slight chance of surviving. He would kill, because that's what it would take to come home. But they couldn't force him to feel. They couldn't force him to become attached to anyone else in the arena. They couldn't force him to have allies. Friends. If he was determined to play the Games alone, then there was nothing they could do to stop him.

And that in itself was a small victory. Maybe not much of one, but he would take any sort of victory he could get. If there was anything he could withhold from the Capitol – anything he could deny them, however small – then he would. He had to. He owed it to Ross to pay them back – in any way he could – for his ally's death.

Felix turned his attention back to his food. The biggest thing he could withhold from them, of course, was his cooperation. He could refuse to fight. And maybe that was the right thing to do. Maybe that would even be the brave thing to do. But that was also the one thing he couldn't do. After surviving the arena once, he simply didn't have it in him to roll over and die.

"There's no shame in fighting," Moira said quietly, as if she could tell what he was thinking. "Or, at least, no more than there was the first time. We're only alive because we were willing to kill to survive once. Nothing's changed."

Felix nodded. Nothing. Nothing and everything at the same time. The Games hadn't changed. What he was being asked – no, ordered – to do hadn't changed. His desire to survive – that hadn't changed.

Had it?

No. No, as rotten as his life sometimes was – and as much as some people probably thought he wanted it to be over – he didn't want to die. Maybe Silvesta did. Maybe that was why she'd volunteered. Maybe she'd grown tired of living with her past and decided that it was better to simply end it.

And maybe it _would_ be better. Quicker, at least. Maybe even more merciful. But he had never wanted that. There were times when he wondered if he really cared. Times when it didn't seem to matter whether he lived or died. But he had never actually _wanted_ to die.

And now, to his surprise, he found that he actually wanted to live. Because that would be the best thing he could deny the Capitol: his death. If he could survive, despite their efforts to kill him – again – then that would be the ultimate victory.

But was it one he could actually achieve?

* * *

" _I never fight against the inevitable; it's a vain occupation. But I would advise you to reconsider what you consider to be inevitable."_


	18. Train Rides: Apparent Defeat

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Shout-out to _LokiThisIsMadness_ who has an open SYOT. Send some tributes her way. :)

Also, friendly reminder to vote in the "favorite tribute" poll if you haven't already. A new poll will be up along with the chariot rides.

* * *

 **Train Rides  
** **Apparent Defeat**

* * *

 **Aelin Kuang, 60  
** **District One**

"So what do you think?"

Aelin shook her head as the tape of the reapings ended. The Careers weren't quite what she'd been expecting. Maybe she should have known better. Maybe she'd been away from mentoring for so long that she hadn't realized the Careers had grown soft. One of them had even tried to run away! How were they supposed to form a strong pack when half of them didn't want to be there?

"I think we have some work to do," Aelin sighed, frustrated. Aside from District One, there had only been one Career volunteer. What were the others thinking? Didn't they realize this was the chance of a lifetime?

Hadrien was strangely quiet as Genesis and Jay put in their two cents. "Demetrius is definitely pack material," Jay offered. "I don't think Freya will be interested."

Genesis nodded. "Cedra's too flighty. She's still getting over her first Games. She'll be unpredictable. Maybe even soft. And Galen … I don't know."

Hadrien shook his head. "I know Galen. He'll be welcome in our pack, if that's what he wants. Maybe he's not ruthless, but he's capable. And we're not exactly in a position to be picky."

That much was true, she had to admit. Their options for Careers were slim. "So that's four of us, assuming they both accept," she reasoned. "Not exactly a large pack."

"Maybe there are other options we should consider," Genesis suggested. "Sure, the rest of them aren't Careers, but every one of them has already won once. They all have something to offer."

Aelin cringed. _Something to offer_. She sounded like she was organizing a dinner and expecting the others to bring a dish to share. This wasn't about who had something to offer. This was about finding the best, the most capable. They couldn't just start accepting everyone…

But Hadrian seemed to be game. "Who did you have in mind?"

Genesis shrugged. "Aras, maybe? District Ten? District Seven?"

Jay cocked an eyebrow. "District Seven? Clark and Hatchet?"

Genesis smirked. "You're only laughing because you're not old enough to remember how she won. She could get us a sympathy vote or two – and then exploit it."

Aelin shook her head. They were supposed to be _Careers_. They didn't need the 'sympathy vote.' But she had to admit, she did like Hatchet. The older woman was always good for a joke and a good argument. But this wasn't a game…

Except it was. It had always been a game. And part of that game was making sure they were appealing to the Capitol – and not just as a pack of ruthless killers. Whatever she may think about Hatchet's capabilities – or Galen's, or Aras's – the fact remained that the Capitol loved them. And maybe they _could_ use that.

"Irina and Gareth seem like a better option," Jay shrugged. "They're both young. Energetic. And we … well, we could use a bit of that."

Hadrian chuckled a little. "Because we're not – Is that what you're saying?"

Jay blushed a little. "Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but … yes. Neither of you is as young as you used to be, and it might be good for your image to be seen with some more recent Victors. Not just because of their skills, but because they'll be fresh in the Capitol's memories. The Capitol knows who Demetrius is. They know who Gareth and Irina are. They probably even remember that Irina teamed up with the Careers during her own Games. But you two…"

He let the end of the sentence hang in the air. There would be some in the Capitol, of course, who would remember them. But the others – the younger crowd – they might not even remember who she and Hadrian were. Aelin clenched her fists. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right that they should have to rely on their younger counterparts for popularity. In her day, she'd been just as popular as any of them.

But this wasn't her day. Not anymore. Not yet. Not until she took it back from them. Until then, she could pretend. She could pretend to welcome their company. To need their advice. She could use their popularity to remind the Capitol of her own. And then, when the time was right, she would strike.

"I think they're good choices," she agreed at last, eyeing Genesis, waiting to see if there was anyone else she wanted to suggest.

"Assuming they _want_ to be part of the pack," Hadrian added.

Aelin let out a little scoff. Of _course_ they would want to be part of the pack. Back in her day, any outer-district tribute would have been _honored_ to be offered a place in the Career pack. If they were smart, then they would see it for the advantage it was. And if not … well, then they weren't really worth having, anyway.

"Of course they will," Genesis agreed. "Most of them, at least. And if they don't … well, Careers have won with smaller packs, I suppose."

Technically, that was true. In regular years. In a year where most of the other tributes were either alone or in smaller groups, even a pack of three or four could dominate the arena. But this wasn't a regular year. Every one of the tributes this year knew there would be strength in numbers. They couldn't afford to be outnumbered – not this year.

Aelin shook the thought from her head. They wouldn't be. Surely most of the others would accept their offer. Sure, she wasn't as young as she used to be. Maybe Hadrian wasn't, either. But Demetrius was still in his prime. And the Capitol loved all of them. Surely that would be enough to win over the others.

The Capitol. That was their biggest advantage, in the end. Even if the others didn't recognize the value of being part of the Career pack, the Capitol would still favor them. Still recognize their loyalty. The Capitol, the Gamemakers, the sponsors – in the end, those were the most valuable allies in the arena.

And they were allies she meant to have.

* * *

 **Demetrius Ashworth, 37  
** **District Two**

"Are you sure you want them as allies?"

Demetrius leaned back in his chair, wishing that he _was_ certain. When he and Avery had sat down to watch the tape of the reaping, he'd been hoping that some of the younger Career Victors would end up being chosen. As it was, the only Career in the arena who was younger than him would be Cedra. And she hadn't exactly seemed … enthusiastic about going back into the arena.

So maybe Avery's question was a valid one. A reasonable one. But it still gave him a sour feeling in his stomach – thinking of abandoning the other Careers. Freya, at least, had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with the Career pack this year. But the others would be counting on him. Hadrian, Aelin – maybe even Galen. They would be counting on him to be part of the pack.

But was that really what he wanted?

At least they would know what they were doing. No one could question their skills. Their experience. But did they still have what it took – physically – to go up against Victors who were still in their prime?

He wished there was a way to be certain. But, of course, there wasn't – not until they were actually in the arena. And by then it would be too late.

Even if the decided he didn't want them as allies, though, what was the other option? Was there anyone else in the arena who would trust him? Careers had a reputation – a reputation that wasn't entirely undeserved. He was willing to do what it took to survive, and he had no delusions of keeping that a secret. Were there other tributes who would be willing to ally with him, anyway, knowing that they would eventually have to turn on each other?

Maybe. Every tribute this year, after all, was also a Victor. They understood the Games in a way that tributes in a normal year wouldn't. They all knew that, eventually, it was every man for himself. That no alliance lasted forever. They had all lived through it once. All turned on their allies once – or, at the very least, seen their allies killed. They would know better than to get attached. To really trust each other.

So maybe there would be tributes who would be willing to settle for an alliance that could _help_ each other – even though it was only for a little while. And in terms of tributes who had useful skills to bring to an alliance, he had to be somewhere near the top. Maybe at the very top. Would there be anything more valuable to an alliance than a Career who truly knew what he was doing?

Demetrius shook his head. He didn't want to betray the other Careers. But what did he really owe them, in the end? In recent years, it had been a given that tributes from One, Two, and Four would form an alliance. All of them assumed so going in. But there were no rules. No official agreement. Nothing that said he _had_ to be part of their pack.

Nothing except his pride. His sense of duty. A vague sense of loyalty to … what? The idea of a Career pack? Victors who weren't even from the same district? He didn't owe them anything.

But would they see it that way?

That was the problem, in the end. Even if he technically had no obligation to join their pack, they would assume that he did. They would see any sort of rejection as a betrayal. And that would make him a target – him and anyone else who he might seek out as an ally. Could he afford to make the other Careers his enemies?

On the other hand, could he afford not to? If he had the choice between a younger, stronger alliance and an alliance of older, more experienced Careers, he wasn't entirely certain which was the better choice. But he also knew that if he waited too long to make the decision, he could end up with neither. If Hadrian and Aelin suspected he was too wishy-washy, too hesitant in his support, they might reject him from the pack before he even had a chance to quit.

And Careers who got booted out of the pack usually had a hard time finding allies – either because the other tributes assumed that if they weren't good enough to warrant a spot in the pack, they must not be all that impressive, or because they assumed that the other Careers would be targeting them. And the second line of reasoning usually ended up having some merit. Careers usually saw any rejected members of the pack as their largest threat and tried to take them out as quickly as possible.

Demetrius shook his head. How many times had he advised the Careers to do exactly that? And now he might find himself a victim of the same strategy.

Then again, if he left the pack, who would be left to target him? Aelin and Hadrian. Maybe Galen. All he needed to do was find two or three more allies, and his pack could be as strong as theirs. He just needed to talk a few of the outer-district tributes into joining him…

"What do you think of Districts Ten and Eleven?" he asked at last. Gareth and Irina, Jani and Ira – all relatively recent Victors. All around his age. "And maybe Clark or Felix?" Both younger, both aggressive, both willing to do what had to be done.

For a moment, Avery didn't answer. Maybe she was as hesitant as he was to break the unwritten rule that Careers should stick together – no matter what. Maybe she was surprised that he was so quick to consider other options. But, at last, she nodded. "Ira's a better option than Jani. He spent most of his Games hiding. But judging from the reaping, they might be a package deal – neither or both. In that case, I'd take them both. Gareth and Irina are good, too. They won't trust you, but who will? I like Clark better than Felix; he's always struck me as a bit … unstable."

Demetrius nodded. That was a fair assessment. A reasonable assessment. Exactly what he'd hoped for from Avery. No fuss about needing to be a team player and stick with the Careers. No sense of loyalty to people who would eventually be competition, anyway.

"Just one more thing," Avery added. "The other Careers – if you're not going to join them, then finish them quickly."

That caught him off-guard. It was one thing to abandon the Career pack. It was quite another to make them his first targets. But it made sense. Despite their age, they were still some of the biggest threats in the arena. And if eventually everyone in the arena had to go … well, maybe it was better to make sure they went quickly.

And maybe it didn't matter if they went at his hands.

* * *

 **Clark Tierney, 23  
** **District Seven**

What a bunch of spring chickens."

Clark tried to hold back a laugh as the tape of the reapings ended. Hatchet had a point. Compared to her, all of the other tributes were rather young. Which certainly meant she had more experience, but he still didn't envy her position. As much as she might try to make light of it, being the oldest wasn't the advantage that she wanted to make it out to be. Most of the younger tributes would also be stronger. Healthier.

Not that Hatchet wasn't healthy for her age. She prided herself on keeping herself as fit and strong as she could. But seventy seven years was seventy seven years, and Clark had no doubt that there would be tributes in the arena who wouldn't care about her age. Who wouldn't spare her simply because she was old enough to be their grandmother – and then some.

Clark shook his head. Try as he might, he couldn't picture himself being one of them. Couldn't imagine any circumstances in which he could be persuaded to turn on Hatchet. Maybe if they were the last two…

No, not maybe. Certainly if they were the last two. But the chances of the pair of them being the last two in the arena were so slim, it was almost laughable. Clark turned to Hatchet, who was trying to smile. Trying to act like she had a chance. He had to admit, he admired her attitude. Even now, she was trying to stay positive…

"So what do you think about teaming up?"

To his surprise, the question hadn't come from Hatchet, but from Benton, who was seated on the couch, his legs tucked up on the seat, watching the pair of them curiously. "I was asking both of you," he clarified after there was a moment of silence. "I think you'd make quite the pair. Grandmother and grandson, if you will. A bit of a cheap gimmick, perhaps, but tributes have won with less."

Clark nodded. He had no doubt that Benton was referring to himself. His arena had been a giant snake pit, and Benton had spent a good deal of his Games crawling around the bottom of the pit, pretending to be a snake himself. The Capitol had gotten a good laugh out of it, but it had been enough to get him close to some of the other tributes, who, because of the venom that was making them hallucinate, mistook him for an actual snake. It was silly. Embarrassing, maybe. But it had saved his life.

Clark glanced from Benton to Winnow to Hatchet and back again. He hadn't really thought much about allies, but now that Benton mentioned it … maybe it made sense. Maybe the pair of them were a good fit.

On the other hand, an alliance with Hatchet might drive away other potential allies. Other tributes might be attracted to him, but Hatchet? Sure, those who knew her well would understand the value of her experience. But the youngest and the strongest of the other tributes … would they be willing to consider Hatchet an ally? Would they reject him if he insisted that they accept either both of them or neither?

Hatchet turned to Clark. "It's perfectly fine by me, but … well, it's your call, Kiddo. I'll understand if you say no…"

"I accept," Clark blurted out before he'd really had a chance to think it through. Maybe it wasn't the brightest move, but, right now, it felt right. Hatchet was a friend. No, more than a friend. She wasn't technically his mentor, but she had done so much for him, for the other Victors, for the district. The thought of refusing her offer … no. No, he couldn't do that.

Besides, Benton was right. They would make a great pair. Her experience. Her years of connections with other Victors. Maybe they wouldn't attract the youngest or the strongest allies, but he didn't need that. The Capitol would be paying attention to the best and the brightest, but he didn't need the Capitol's attention. He didn't need them to approve his alliance.

Did he?

Maybe not. Maybe he did. But, in any case, this could play well with the Capitol audience, too. What could be more fun than seeing one of their youngest Victors team up with one of their oldest? They would make a perfect team.

Clark shook his head. He could think of a couple hundred things that would be more fun than that – none of them having anything to do with the Games. But if he had to go back into the arena – and he did – then he couldn't imagine anyone who would be better company than Hatchet. And maybe that wasn't the best criteria on which to choose an alliance … but it certainly wasn't the worst.

Benton nodded, then moved on to the next logical question. "Great. Who else?"

Who else? The question made sense. The pair of them were a good match, but it would be even better if they could add one or two more. Benton had asked the same thing five years ago, when Clark and his district partner, Camilla, had agreed to an alliance. _Who else?_ Then, as now, his mentor had known the pair of them would do better with another ally or two.

Clark turned to Hatchet. "You know them better than I do. Who would you trust?"

Hatchet smiled a little. "Not a one of them. Murderous, untrustworthy oafs – the lot of them. You and me included in that, young man. Trust doesn't even come into the picture. But if we're looking for someone…" She trailed off in thought. "Depends on what we're looking for, I suppose. Are we looking to make a splash, or are we hoping to go unnoticed for a bit?"

That was a good question. A question he wasn't quite sure how to answer. He knew what the answer would have been during his own Games. He and Camilla had allied with the girl from Three, who had been one of the strongest tributes in the arena – aside from the Careers, of course. And maybe that had made them a bit of a target, but it had been worth it, in the end.

And there was a part of him that wanted to do the same. To be noticed. To make some sort of an impression on the Capitol audience. They were Victors, after all. Maybe not the bloodiest or the most intriguing Victors, but Victors nonetheless. The Capitol would be expecting them to make an impression – each and every one of them. They couldn't afford to get lost in the shuffle. Not with so much at stake.

"A splash," Clark decided at last.

Benton nodded his agreement, and a smile spread across Hatchet's face. "I was hoping you'd say that." She leaned forward a little.

"I've got a few ideas."

* * *

 **Irina Cavell, 32  
** **District Ten**

Was there really a reason to do things any differently this time?

Irina glanced around the train car as her suggestion registered on the others' faces. Robben's reluctance. Gareth's skepticism. Aramanth's willingness to consider the matter. At last, Gareth shook his head. "You think we should join the Careers?"

Irina nodded. "Look, I don't like it any more than you do. I don't like their attitudes, their sense of entitlement. I don't like the special treatment they get. And I certainly don't like the fact that they think all of this is a game." She leaned forward a little. "But the fact of the matter is, the Capitol loves them. And this year of all years, having allies the Capitol loves will be an advantage."

It was more than that, though. And as she glanced over at Robben, she knew that he understood, as well. Allying with the Careers had helped her the first time, but it had also set a precedent. If she _didn't_ team up with the Career pack this time, the Capitol might wonder what had gone wrong, whether she was really as strong, as confident, as determined as she had been fourteen years ago.

And if she was going to join the Careers, then it made sense for Gareth to do the same. She had her reservations about the Careers, but Gareth, at least, she was fairly certain she could trust. At least, as much as anyone _could_ trust someone else in the Games. Maybe he wasn't the most charismatic choice for an ally, but he, like most of District Ten's Victors, understood the value of an alliance that could actually function.

Because so often alliances fell apart early, and the members of the alliance were the ones who suffered. Once a few days passed in the arena, fear and paranoia took over. Allies turned on each other even when there were a dozen or so tributes left. They ended up injured and tired and were easily picked off by alliances – even smaller ones – that had managed to stay together.

Career packs weren't immune to falling apart, of course. Particularly packs with an unstable member or a weaker leader. But most of the time, they knew better. They were trained to know better, to think about _when_ the best time would be to turn on their allies. When they turned on each other, it was usually a strategic move, rather than one made out of fear.

In that sense, she had to admit, they had the right idea. So often, tributes in the arena acted solely out of fear, relying on instinct rather than thinking things through. And there were times when that was useful. But, more often than not, tributes' instincts were to run _away_ from a fight. And there were very few quicker ways to lose the audience's support than trying to avoid a fight.

It was pointless, after all – trying to avoid other tributes. To avoid fighting. Tributes occasionally managed to avoid confrontation until the final fight – and, once in a while, came out on top – but they were few and far between. Most of the time, the victory went to the tributes who took the initiative. Who weren't afraid to fight. Who were willing to _start_ a fight if one didn't present itself.

"They'll probably be looking for recruits," Aramanth admitted at last. "The Careers this year are … well, they're a mixed bunch."

Irina nodded. The three who had volunteered – Aelin, Hadrian, and Demetrius – would probably be part of the pack. But what about the others? Would the Careers accept them out of respect for tradition, or would they be on their own? And if the three volunteers _did_ reject the others, that left quite a small pack. A pack that would be looking to boost their numbers. She and Gareth could use that.

"I suppose it's an option," Gareth conceded, though it was clear from his tone that it wasn't an option he liked. "But are we sure there's not a better one?"

Irina cocked an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Gareth shifted a little in his seat. "The Career pack this year is small – if they don't manage to pick up anyone else. Or, if they take the other three just because they _have_ to, then they're a jumbled, weaker pack. If we could form a large enough group _without_ the Careers, we could overpower them."

Irina nodded a little. It was an appealing thought. But would enough of the other tributes be willing to join them to take down the Careers? "Who did you have in mind?"

"Anyone else the Careers might try to recruit," Gareth suggested. "Ira. Clark. Maybe Felix or Aras."

Irina turned to Aramanth and Robben. "What do you think?"

Aramanth shook her head. "There is no one right answer. Both options have their drawbacks. If you join an already-established Career pack, you'll probably have the audience's support, but you'll have to watch your backs. If you form your own, the others will probably see the two of you as the leaders, as opposed to being additions to the pack – but the audience might not take kindly to a pack that exists mostly to wipe out the Careers."

"In either case, you'll have to move quickly," Robben pointed out. "If you want to form your own pack, you'll have to get to the others before the Careers do. And if you want to join the Careers, you should do so at the start, rather than later on during training. If you're seen as part of the pack from the start rather than as late additions, that'll be better for you."

Logical. Practical. Exactly what she would expect from the pair of them. "Let's keep an eye on the Careers during the tribute parade," Gareth suggested. "See what sort of move they're making – if they're all working together or if some of them are actively recruiting. Then we can decide."

"Fair enough," Irina agreed. That made sense. But she couldn't help a suspicion that Gareth was stalling. That he wasn't really considering joining the Careers at all.

And maybe she had been wrong to expect that he would. Just because _she_ had allied with the Careers during her Games didn't mean that everyone would be as open to doing so. Or that the Careers would accept them. Would the Careers even take Gareth, if the two of them tried to join the pack? What if they accepted her, but not him?

Irina shook the thought from her head. There was no question there – or, at least, there shouldn't be. She couldn't afford to worry about Gareth. If he didn't want to join the pack, that was his problem. She had to do what was best for herself. Because, in the end, only one of them could win.

And she meant for it to be her.

* * *

" _I never fight against the inevitable; it's a vain occupation. But I would advise you to reconsider what you consider to be inevitable. It is amazing how often apparent defeat can be turned into victory."_


	19. Chariot Rides: Renewal

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Results of the favorite tribute poll are up on the blog. There's a new poll on my profile, this time asking who you think will fall in the bloodbath. Please note that this is not necessarily the same as who you _want_ to see die in the bloodbath. Also, please be aware that this poll has no effect on who _will_ die in the bloodbath, apart from giving me a gauge of where my choices fall on the believable/surprising spectrum.

* * *

 **Chariot Rides  
** **Renewal**

* * *

 **President Julian Linus**

"So why _didn't_ you reap Rufus?"

Julian shook his head as he and Head Gamemaker Amber Lionetti made their way to the balcony to watch the tribute parade. It was a reasonable question. He'd arranged for one or two of the more rebellious tributes to be reaped. The majority of the reapings, however, had, in fact, been left up to chance. But Rufus…

"Was it just a mistake?" Amber continued when she didn't get an answer. "I'd say it's a pretty big mistake to make, but—"

"It wasn't a mistake. In fact, we were careful to make sure that he _wasn't_ reaped. Either Valion or Audric would have been suitable. And if Rufus volunteered – well, there would have been nothing we could do to stop _that_. But I certainly wasn't going to _put_ him in the arena."

Amber stared, confused. "But I thought the point of the Quell was to eliminate Victors who posed a threat."

"Not at all. The point of the Quell is to eliminate _potential_ threats. To stop Victors who might _become_ a problem. Rufus is already a problem – one I'd much rather deal with outside of the arena." He couldn't hold back a smirk. "Would _you_ want him in your arena?"

"Well, no, I suppose."

"Exactly. If and when he decides to make a move, we'll deal with him. If he were a tribute, we'd have to keep him alive at least until the Games began. And he'd have the opportunity to influence the other tributes. Once the Games start, I don't want him anywhere near the action."

"And the others?"

Julian shrugged. "Nothing you won't be able to deal with. Nothing you haven't handled before." This was Amber's ninth year as Head Gamemaker, after all. Her first year had been Felix's year, and she had handled that admirably. If she could handle that…

"There shouldn't be any problems," Julian repeated. "If anything, you should have even less to worry about than in a normal year. These are Victors. They know they'll have to put in their share of the work if they want to come out on top. You shouldn't have to work too hard to get things moving."

Probably. That was what he was hoping for, at least. What the entire Capitol was hoping for. After years of having to coax teenagers into killing each other, the twenty-four Victors this year would hopefully seem eager. Prepared. Ready to do what had to be done.

There was, of course, the alternative. The option that neither of them had mentioned. The chance that maybe the Victors would be even more reluctant to kill than their usual tributes. That the friendships they'd formed over the years, the bonds they'd created, would hold – for a while, at least.

But not forever. Even if they held out for a little while – even if one or two of them refused to play along – eventually, they would break. Once one or two of them began to fight, the others would follow. They would have to, if they wanted to survive.

And they did want to survive. Of course they did. That much hadn't changed since the twenty-four of them were tributes. They would do anything, say anything, fight and kill _anyone_ in order to survive.

All he had to do – all anyone in the Capitol had to do – was sit back and watch.

* * *

 **Freya Basnett, 44  
** **District Two**

She was used to just sitting back and watching.

Freya took a deep breath as Demetrius held out a hand to help her into their chariot. She smiled a little, but she knew better than to mistake the gesture for something more meaningful. He was being polite because it was what was expected. Careers were expected to, at the very least, respect each other. And in the Capitol's eyes, maybe she was still a Career.

But only to them. This was no longer her world. Freya's gaze strayed to Aelin and Hadrian in the chariot in front of them, each of them dressed in shining gold armor and a flowing scarlet cape. Golden weapons were in their hands – a spear for Aelin and a bow for Hadrian. Each of them wore a crown of golden laurel leaves, like a king and queen. Or maybe even a god and goddess. Like a pair of heroes returning from the mists of ancient legend to reclaim their thrones.

Slowly, the chariots rolled forward, and the crowd roared as they appeared, their cheering louder than Freya remembered. Had the crowd been this large before? No, surely the numbers were due to the Quell. Even more people than normal had gathered.

Gathered to watch them die.

Freya shook the thought from her head, trying her best to smile, at least, as the chariots rolled on. Their outfits weren't as spectacular as Hadrian and Aelin's, perhaps, but they were no less fitting. Instead of their typical, more militaristic uniforms, District Two's stylists, as well, had decided to take a page out of their own history books. Before the rise of the Career system, District Two's outfits had been stone-based. So she and Demetrius had been given matching stone-grey outfits, lined with bits of rock.

But not sharpened rock, like the crowds might be expecting. Instead, their outfits had been carefully crafted to look rounded. Weathered. Rocks that, while perhaps not as flashy as they could be, had stood the test of time. Stones that had survived the worst of the world's weather and come out stronger.

Or, at least, that was the idea. Freya knew better. Eventually, even the strongest of rocks gave way to the wind and the waves that beat at it. Rocks certainly didn't become _stronger_ because of the weather. At best, they remained unchanged. But, most of the time, they were simply worn away, bit by bit, until there was nothing left.

But that wasn't what the Capitol would see. Wasn't what they _wanted_ to see, at least. So she smiled. She even waved a little. For a moment, she could pretend. For a moment, she was a Career again. Young and strong and confident, exactly what they wanted to see.

But only for a moment.

* * *

 **Euclid Hoover, 32  
** **District Three**

For a moment, it was almost fun.

Euclid smiled a little as the chariots rolled forward into the Capitol. Beside him, Wisteria stood still as stone. Almost as if she would have felt more at home in District Two's outfits.

Their own outfits, of course, weren't anything particularly remarkable. District Three's outfits rarely were. Still, they were better than some years. He and Wisteria wore skin-tight black leotards, with bright yellow lines running up and down the sides, criss-crossing at odd angles. Probably meant to resemble some sort of computer system. Maybe a circuit board.

Or maybe their stylist had simply fallen asleep while doodling. That seemed about as likely. In any case, the Capitol audience wasn't paying much attention to them. Which was probably for the best. After all, it wasn't as if they _wanted_ the Capitol's attention. Because attention from the Capitol would mean attention from other tributes. And that was something he certainly didn't want.

With regard to that, at least, he and Wisteria seemed to be on the same page. She was doing nothing to encourage the Capitol audience. Nothing to attract the attention of the other tributes. Euclid drummed his fingers on the side of the chariot. Good. That was good. Wasn't it? Being ignored was good. Being ignored meant they would stay safer longer.

Probably. Maybe. It had certainly helped the first time. What little attention he had drawn from the audience had mostly earned him sympathy. And sympathy was good. But it was also something they weren't likely to get much of this time around – him or Wisteria. No, the sympathy this time would go to the tributes with families. Children. Grandchildren. He couldn't count on the audience's pity this time.

Nor, it seemed, could he count on any from Wisteria. He'd been hoping that maybe … No. No, that was silly. He couldn't count on her help. He couldn't count on anyone's help. He couldn't trust anyone. He had to be more careful than that. More careful than he had been last time.

Still…

Euclid glanced at the chariot behind him. Galen and Cedra certainly didn't seem worried about being careful – or about whether they could trust each other. Both were smiling and waving at the crowd. Both seemed to be enjoying their outfits – sea-green robes with headdresses fashioned like sea serpents' heads.

Galen flashed Euclid a smile and a wink, and Euclid quickly looked away. He was trying _not_ to be noticed. It didn't mean anything, of course. Galen noticed _everyone_. But if the others saw – if the _audience_ saw – then what would they make of it? Probably nothing, but he could never be sure.

He would have to be more careful.

* * *

 **Evo Ortega, 59  
** **District Six**

They were all being too careful.

Evo clenched his teeth as their chariot finally entered the Capitol. In front of them, Shyanne and Valion were both smiling, both trying to pretend that they weren't going to their deaths. Valion had one arm around his younger district partner, and both of them were waving at the audience. Evo shook his head. They were trying too hard. Trying to play it safe.

They didn't realize that it wasn't going to help.

Mentors always talked about how important it was to appeal to the audience. To get the sponsors' support. To make a good impression. But he had done none of those things. Camryn had done none of those things – not during her Games, at least. And here they were.

Evo shook his head. Yes, here they were, about to go into the Games again. So maybe there was _something_ to be said for being on the Capitol's good side. But that hadn't stopped the Capitol from reaping some of the audience's favorite Victors to go back into the Games. No one had been spared.

And that was the point. Rebels and Capitol favorites – they were all going to die. Twenty-three of them were going to die. Valion and Shyanne, both happily waving despite their ridiculous outfits – blue, striped outfits that were apparently supposed to represent water flowing towards a power-plant-shaped structure at the back of their chariot – they were probably going to die. Camryn, who was standing beside him in a ridiculous sailor's uniform, trying to pretend that their chariot looked the least bit like a ship, was probably going to die. And he…

He was almost certainly going to die. But that would be true no matter what he did now. And there was no point in pretending otherwise.

So he might as well do something.

As the chariots rolled farther into the Capitol, Evo leaned suddenly to the right. Then to the left. Then right again. Then left – this time hurrying to the other side of the chariot. "What are you doing?" Camryn demanded frantically, but it was too late. Their little boat-decorated chariot was already rocking violently. Right. Left. One more time and—

Before anyone could intervene, the chariot broke loose from the horses that were pulling it, almost immediately tipping over onto its side, spilling both Evo and Camryn out of the chariot. The horses, confused, stopped for a moment, and Evo turned to Camryn. "Come on!" he hissed, grabbing one of the horse's saddles and finally managing to pull himself up.

Camryn hesitated, but, seeing no other option, quickly mounted the other horse, abandoning their crashed chariot. Evo glanced over at his district partner, expecting a disapproving look, but, instead, he was surprised to see Camryn was smiling.

And he was even more surprised to realize that he was, too.

* * *

 **Cadaya Kallier, 43  
** **District Eight**

She couldn't stop herself from smiling a little.

Cadaya turned her gaze to the audience, hoping to make it appear as if she was smiling at them. For them. As if she was truly happy to be here, rather than simply amused – and maybe even a little impressed – that Evo had decided to pull a crazy stunt like that.

In the chariot ahead of her, Hatchet wasn't even trying to be discreet. She was cackling wildly, hooting and hollering as Evo and Camryn rode forward. The horses pulling the chariots behind District Six did manage to steer the other tributes around the wrecked chariot, but it was certainly going to leave an impression.

Which had probably been the idea in the first place. Evo had wanted to do something memorable. Something important. But the question remained as to whether that would intrigue the audience … or whether they would see it as some sort of rebellion.

Because surely it wasn't _intended_ as an act of rebellion. Surely even Evo couldn't be that foolhardy. He knew what was at stake. If he defied the Capitol now, he would never make it out of the arena alive.

Cadaya turned her attention back to the crowds around her. That wasn't her problem. She couldn't afford to worry about Evo. Or anyone, for that matter. It wasn't as if she and Evo were particularly close. Sure, they'd met, but, after all, she'd at least _met_ most of the other Victors. She couldn't let that stop her from doing what had to be done.

What had to be done. Cadaya's gaze strayed to the chariot in front of her, where Hatchet and Clark stood, smiling, laughing, waving, surrounded by funny little animal carvings that were probably supposed to represent some sort of wooden toys. How could she even start to think about killing either of them? Hatchet, who was old enough to be her mother. Clark, who was young enough to be her son, who reminded her of her own daughter. Of Simeon. Of the children she had mentored over the years.

How could she kill either of them?

Or Maximus, standing beside her in a silly patchwork robe that matched her own, looking like some sort of misshapen rag doll that someone had tried to put too many different outfits on. Cadaya gripped the front of the chariot tightly. It was one thing to see the reapings onscreen, but now that she was here, back among her fellow Victors – her fellow tributes – she was even less certain.

Could she really do this?

* * *

 **Aras Everett, 63  
** **District Nine**

"You can't get involved in this."

Aras did his best to keep his voice low as the chariots rolled forward, but more likely than not, he had nothing to worry about. The crowd's attention was on District Six, and hopefully, that was where it would stay – for now, at least. They could afford to let Evo have his moment. He'd earned that much, at least.

But it couldn't go beyond that.

Aras laid a hand on Ebony's shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze through her costume – a mass of black strips of fabric, draped around their bodies at odd angles, blowing in the wind … and because of a fan hidden in the bottom of the chariot. The outfits were apparently supposed to be tornadoes – although that wasn't immediately apparent, and he'd had to ask several of their stylists in order to get a straight answer.

And maybe it made sense. Tornadoes were rather common in District Nine. But it was also cruel. A reminder of the Capitol's power. Of the story they had concocted to cover up the deaths of Ebony's parents, and the fact that there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

Not if she wanted to live.

Ebony reached up, grasping his hand tightly. "I wasn't planning to."

Aras nodded. Good. He was hoping she would have more sense than to get involved with any sort of rebellion. It wasn't that he supported the Capitol, of course. The Games. The Quell. But the Capitol was too powerful. Any rebellion was doomed to fail, and, when the inevitable happened, it would be better to be far away from those responsible.

But that didn't mean that he had to stop them. It wasn't his job to prevent any sort of rebellion, either. That job would likely fall to the Careers – however many of them were actually _Careers_ this year. The Capitol would expect them to target anyone who showed any sign of rebelling. The rebels – if there were any – would almost certainly try to take out the Careers. And the more the two groups focused on each other, the less time they would spend targeting everyone else.

He could take advantage of that.

Aras turned his attention back to the crowd, grinning. Waving. Pretending that this was all a game. Because back in District Nine, his family was watching. If he was going to die, then he wanted their last memories of him to be good ones. He wouldn't let them see him sulk his way through what could be the last few days of his life. He couldn't do that to them.

And, besides, it _was_ rather fun – this part, at least. The lights. The people. The costumes. Most of the costumes, at least, were better than in a normal year. Behind them, District Ten – usually dressed in some sort of ridiculous animal-related costume – were instead dressed as horse racers. Irina and Gareth seemed to be enjoying themselves. Exactly how much of that was real and how much was for show, of course, Aras wasn't sure. But maybe, in the end, there wasn't a difference between pretending to enjoy the spectacle and actually enjoying it.

Maybe, in the end, they were the same thing.

* * *

 **Silvesta Ardin, 47  
** **District Twelve**

In the end, they all wanted the same thing.

Silvesta smiled a little as the chariots rolled to a stop. Beside her, Felix glared unforgivingly out at the crowd, the drugs the stylists had given him finally beginning to wear off. They'd had a hell of a time getting him into his costume – and with good reason. The pair of them were dressed in ridiculous, bulky costumes that were apparently supposed to look like puffs of grey smoke – like the smoke that would rise from burning coal.

District Eleven hadn't fared much better. Ira and Jani were each dressed as a tall stalk of wheat. But the pair of them were taking it in stride, swaying a little in their chariot like stalks dancing in the breeze. Jani was smiling and waving at the crowd, and at least Ira was doing her best not to look too upset.

Silvesta glanced around the semicircle of chariots that had formed. Some of the Victors were smiling, pretending to be excited. Some of them weren't even trying to contain their anger. Maybe it didn't even matter, in the end, which they chose. They all wanted the same thing. They wanted to be noticed. Acknowledged. Remembered.

Maybe that was all any of them wanted, in the end. To do something memorable. Silvesta's gaze strayed to the Careers – Hadrian and Aelin, Demetrius and Freya, Galen and Cedra. In the end, the Career system wasn't about the fame or the glory. It was about doing something that very few could accomplish. Something they would be remembered for.

That much, at least, she could understand.

"Welcome, Victors!" President Linus' voice echoed even over the roar of the crowd. "Welcome, tributes! For tributes you are once more – the best your districts have ever offered. A true tribute to the courage and sacrifice of the districts, you have come here tonight once again prepared to fight for the honor of your districts. We thank you for your courage, and we salute your sacrifice. Happy Hunger Games … and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Sacrifice. The word hadn't meant much to her, perhaps, thirty years ago. She hadn't chosen to be a tribute, after all. It hadn't been her sacrifice to make. But this year…

This year, the choice had been hers, and hers alone. She had made her choice – a choice that, at this moment, had never felt more right. If someone had to be here – and someone _did_ – then it should be her. She was the best choice. The only choice.

In the end, they all wanted the same thing: to know that they had made a difference. And no matter what happened now, she had. Her actions had already saved a life, no matter how things proceeded from here.

What more could she ask for?

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

What more could they ask for?

Galen was grinning as he helped Cedra down from their chariot. Cedra, for her part, was at least trying to smile. At least pretending to enjoy herself. And maybe that was an improvement from her attitude during the reapings – and certainly better than her silence on the train – but the truth was that he was already hungry for better company. Company that was actually … well, _company_ , rather than a reminder of what was about to happen.

Not that he blamed her for being upset. There was more than enough reason for that. But just because there were good _reasons_ to be upset didn't mean that he wanted to spend what could be his last few days moping around, upset at everyone and everything – even the people who were trying to help. No, if these were going to be his last days, he was going to make damn sure he enjoyed them.

"Galen!" Galen turned to see Hadrian and Aelin making their way over from their chariot, where Demetrius was already headed in the opposite direction. Had he refused their alliance offer or simply left them to do the rest of the recruiting? Aelin was smiling a little, but Hadrian was as somber as ever. "Do you have a moment?"

Galen threw an arm around each of them. "For you two? I have two moments. What brings you over to our humble chariot?" In one motion, he grabbed Cedra, who had started to sneak away, and pulled her back into the huddle. "I think they were talking to both of us."

Aelin flushed. "Actually, we—"

Hadrian cut her off. "Of course we were."

No. No, they hadn't been – that much was obvious. But coming to talk to him about an alliance while his district partner was still right next to him and then not inviting her, as well – that was just rude. And not at all like the Hadrian and Aelin he knew. Something had definitely thrown them off. "Did Demetrius say no?"

The look on Hadrian's face was enough to tell him that was probably the wrong question to ask, but there was no point in avoiding the issue. It would have come up sooner or later. "Demetrius has decided to … explore other options."

Other options. Galen glanced around, and finally spotted Demetrius talking to Gareth and Irina. Freya, meanwhile, didn't seem interested in joining either pack.

And maybe she had the right idea. If there were going to be two Career packs – or two half-Career packs, or two semi-Career packs – then maybe it was best to simply stay out of their way.

Cedra seemed to have the same idea, and when she pulled away again and wandered off, he let her go. Galen smiled a little. "I'll think about it," he assured them before heading off to find some cheerier company.

And it wasn't a lie. He would think about it. Try to talk himself into it, maybe. But the truth was, he already knew what his answer would be.

And he had a feeling they wouldn't like it.

* * *

 **Hadrian Xiao, 49  
** **District One**

He had a feeling he already knew what Galen's answer would be.

Hadrian turned to Aelin, who was still watching Demetrius out of the corner of her eye. "That's two." Two offers of an alliance, and two rejections. Not a great average so far. Galen hadn't said no outright – which was more than Demetrius had done – but it was clear he wasn't interested in joining a divided Career pack, which was what they had become as soon as Demetrius had said no.

He had to admit, that had caught him off guard. He hadn't expected Freya and Cedra to be interested in joining their pack – or _any_ pack – and Galen was always going to be a wild card. But he had thought he could count on Demetrius, at least. He and Aelin had discussed other options on the train, of course, but they had all been options for _additions_ to the pack, not other alliances that might be _better_ than the pack.

But now, it seemed, there wasn't going to be much of a pack. Not a pack of Careers, at least. And it was also looking like they would need to act quickly if they wanted their pack to be able to rival Demetrius'. Hadrian's mind raced. Who else had they been considering on the train? Demetrius was already chatting with the pair from Ten – Gareth and Irina – and, from the look of it, they had accepted. Galen and Aras were heading off together, and Galen had already declined their offer.

No, not completely. He hadn't declined. But he hadn't seemed terribly enthusiastic about the idea, either – which was something, considering the fact that he was generally enthusiastic about practically anything. If they wanted him to seriously consider their offer, they would have to prove they were an alliance worth joining.

And, at the moment, they weren't. Even he had to admit that. Not compared to the alliance Demetrius was forming. Three Victors in their thirties or two who were … well, past their prime, at the least. It wasn't much of a competition.

"Don't mind them. They're just jealous of your outfits." Hadrian turned sharply, startled that not one but two tributes had managed to sneak up on him. Either he had been more distracted than he'd thought, or he was losing his edge. Hadrian shook the thought from his head. No. No, he was just tired. It had been a long train ride. A long parade. And after being rejected by two tributes, no one could blame him for being a bit distracted.

Aelin, however, was clearly hungry for some positive attention. "Why, thank you, Hatchet. You look lovely, too. Wooden figurines – certainly not something I would have thought of, but clever."

"Hogwash," Hatchet spat. "They're terrible. But at least they're not puffs of smoke or something even sillier." She cackled a little. Beside her, Clark managed a smile. "But that's not the point," Hatchet admitted. "I think we all know we didn't come over here to talk about costumes."

Hadrian glanced at Aelin. Of the options they'd discussed, an alliance with Hatchet and Clark hadn't exactly been at the top of the list. But now that the top of the list wasn't available…

Aelin didn't wait for his approval. She simply smiled.

"What did you have in mind?"

* * *

 **Hatchet Ford, 77  
** **District Seven**

"What did you have in mind?"

Hatchet grinned as Aelin tried her best to smile, doing her best to look enthusiastic about an alliance that almost certainly wasn't her first choice. That had been almost too easy. When she had suggested to Clark on the trains that their first move should be to try to split the Career pack in half, she had assumed that they would have their work cut out for them. She'd never imagined that the Careers would do her job for her.

But here they were, the pack already irreparably split. Things couldn't be going more perfectly. Hatchet smiled back. "They'll underestimate us – all of us. Three older Victors and this young pup." She clapped Clark on the back. "They'll consider us easy pickings. And maybe the audience will, too. But we'll be ready for them – and as strong as any pack they can put together."

Aelin nodded. It was clearly what they wanted to hear. What they wanted to believe – that they could be as strong as any Career pack, that they had what it would take to rival their younger opponents. Whether it was actually true or not … well, maybe that wasn't the important thing, in the end.

The Games, after all, were never about what was true, what was real, what was right. The Games were about putting on a show. Getting the audience and the Gamemakers on their side. District One's stylists had already revealed what they were going for – ancient legends, returning to reclaim their title. She and Clark could use that. Aelin and Hadrian would be enough to win the audience's favor, convince the Gamemakers that they weren't a threat to the Capitol, to the Games. Maybe they weren't the strongest allies, but…

But neither was she, if she was being honest. She had Clark on her side, and that was apparently enough to convince the two Careers that she was worth having as an ally. If he wasn't there with her…

But he was. And he'd made it clear on the train that he intended to stay with her. So she might as well use that to her advantage.

Hatchet did her best to smile as Aelin wrapped an arm around her shoulders and they all headed for their rooms, chattering away. She hated the thought that she was using Clark. Relying on him. But if she got out of this alive, there would be time to hate herself later. Time she wouldn't have if she didn't do everything possible to survive.

And it wasn't as if she was planning to kill him herself. Not as if she would stand a chance against him in a fair fight, if it came down to that. So she would just have to hope it wouldn't. That someone else would take care of him – and Aelin and Hadrian.

Finally, they reached the elevator, and said goodbye to their new allies. Hatchet couldn't help a chuckle as she followed Clark into the elevator. Allies. The Careers. Who would have thought it? It certainly wasn't what anyone would have expected.

But sometimes the unexpected was the best way to survive.

* * *

 **Gareth Arch, 37  
** **District Ten**

"That was certainly unexpected."

Gareth nodded as the elevator door slid shut behind him and Irina. When they'd brought up the idea of joining the Career pack on the train, they'd assumed that they would have to prove themselves, have to earn their place in the pack. Instead, Demetrius had come to _them_ , asking them to join his pack. Things couldn't have gone better if they'd planned it that way.

So why did it still feel wrong?

Gareth shook his head as the elevator continued to climb. Maybe it was just the years he had spent thinking of the Careers as the enemy, advising his tributes to stay as far away from them as possible – or to find a way to attack them without getting killed. Maybe that mentality was so ingrained in the outer districts that thinking of the Careers as allies just naturally felt wrong.

But Irina had joined their pack the first time around, and no one had thought any less of her because of it. It had been the right strategic move – no more and no less. She had never thought of them as friends. They had never really expected her loyalty – not any longer than it served her own needs. Maybe it would be the same now.

Gareth sighed as the door opened, revealing Robben and Aramanth already waiting for them outside the elevator. "How did it go?" Aramanth asked hopefully.

Irina smiled a little. "We have allies."

Robben cocked an eyebrow. "Already?"

Gareth shook his head. "We have _an_ ally," he corrected. "Demetrius."

"He won't be the only one," Irina shrugged. "We can't be the only ones who would want to take advantage of joining the Careers."

"Career," Gareth pointed out. "None of the other Careers seemed interested in being in his pack."

"Or maybe he wasn't interested in being in _theirs_ ," Irina countered. "Galen and Aelin are in their sixties. Hadrian isn't much younger. Cedra and Freya didn't seem so Career-like at the reaping. Maybe Demetrius simply realized that he'd have to look to the outer districts for stronger allies."

Gareth nodded a little. Maybe. But it still felt strange. Wrong. As if they'd accepted too quickly, too eagerly.

As if _Irina_ had accepted too quickly, actually. When Demetrius had approached them, she'd said yes almost immediately. What choice had he had after that? If he wanted her as an ally, it was clear, then that meant joining the Careers. Career. The pack. Whatever it ended up being this year.

But he still couldn't shake the feeling that it had happened too quickly.

* * *

 **Ira Hope, 36  
** **District Eleven**

Everything seemed to be moving so quickly.

Ira shook her head as she and Jani made their way out of the elevator and back to their room, where Hylan and Irina were waiting. She and Jani had assumed that the others would want to wait until training began, at least, to talk about alliances. That was when tributes usually found their allies – during training. Well, those who didn't ally with their district partners on the trains, at least.

But, then again, most of the time, tributes didn't really get to _meet_ each other until training began. There were a few who would talk after the chariot rides – usually the Careers, whose alliance was pretty much a given to begin with – but, most of the time, tributes were so overwhelmed by the spectacle of it all that their mentors told them it would be best to wait until training. Wait until they had some idea of the other tributes' abilities.

But they _already_ knew the other tributes' abilities. Most of the Victors – most of the tributes – probably already had some idea of who they might want as an ally, and who they wouldn't. The Careers, it seemed, were already recruiting – and maybe that made sense. The sooner they figured out who their allies were, the sooner they could start planning their strategy.

Did that mean she should start doing the same?

Ira headed silently to her room while Jani stayed to chat with Irina and Hylan. She wasn't even certain that they _needed_ any more allies – her and Jani. The pair of them would work well together, and she was fairly certain she could trust him. Anyone else…

Anyone else might get them noticed. And noticed was certainly something she didn't want to be. Not right away, at least. Being noticed by the audience was good, of course, but being noticed by the Career pack…

 _Packs_ , actually – or, at least, it seemed so now. Aelin and Hadrian seemed to have parted ways with Demetrius. And maybe that made sense. They were all experienced. They were all killers. Anyone could be a useful ally. Maybe it made sense for the Careers to look elsewhere. Maybe to Victors around the same age, rather than those who were fellow Careers but significantly older or younger.

Did that mean they might ask _her_? She hadn't thought of that before. Hadn't considered the idea that the Careers might welcome her into the pack. Irina and Gareth – those were natural choices, maybe, since Irina had joined the Careers before. But Aelin and Hadrian had been talking to Hatchet and Clark. And if _they_ could get into a Career pack, then maybe she could.

But could Jani? They had already agreed to an alliance – one she didn't want to back out of now. And, even if they _could_ , did that mean they _should_? The Career packs would almost certainly target each other once they were in the arena. Did that mean they would be safer trying to avoid both packs?

But they couldn't avoid the action forever. Maybe it would be better to be at the center of things from the start. Either Career pack could provide some protection – protection that would be useful once the Careers' focus turned to the other tributes.

Ira shook her head. On the train, it had seemed so simple. Her and Jani. The two of them could avoid attention, avoid the drama, and survive long enough to have a chance.

It had seemed so simple.

* * *

 **Shyanne James, 19  
** **District Five**

Everything seemed so much simpler now.

Shyanne scooted a little closer to Valion on the couch as the two of them sat sipping their drinks. Valion had poured himself a cup of tea, while Shyanne had dumped a few scoops of ice cream in a glass of lemonade. Audric sat in a chair across from them, motionless except for occasionally glancing around the room to see if Rufus had returned. He hadn't. They'd passed him on the way back from the chariot rides; he had been headed towards the other tributes.

The other tributes. She had been a bit overwhelmed, at the start, by how many of them there were. By the number of potential allies. But now, it seemed, that number was dwindling. Not one, but two Career packs were looking for recruits. "Maybe it's a good thing we're not Career material," Valion pointed out with a smile.

Shyanne grinned back. "Speak for yourself." He was right, of course. Neither of them would be at the top of the Careers' list of potential recruits. And, most likely, neither of them was on the list at all.

"No, you're not," Audric agreed. "And that's probably for the best. But make sure you also stay away from … well, anyone who might be causing trouble."

"Anyone like Rufus?" Shyanne finished for him, realizing too late that he was trying to be subtle. But why? Everyone knew Rufus was opposed to the Games. Everyone with half a brain could figure out he was going to try something. The only question was what, and how many of the tributes he could talk into joining him.

Audric cringed. "Was it that obvious?"

"Probably not to the others," Valion offered. "And hopefully he knows better than to actually try anything."

 _No, he doesn't._ She almost said it out loud, too, but she caught herself in time. The Capitol almost certainly had the tributes' rooms bugged. But surely they already knew. He hadn't exactly tried to keep his views a secret. They weren't saying anything that Rufus wouldn't be happy to confirm himself.

And maybe that was the problem. Rufus meant well, but he had never been able to keep a secret. Or maybe he _could_ keep a secret, but simply hadn't bothered to actually do so. Either way, the Capitol certainly wouldn't be surprised to hear that he was planning something.

But that something didn't have to include the two of them. And, if they wanted to get out alive, it couldn't. Shyanne glanced up at Valion, who nodded. They didn't have to try to stop him, but it was clear now that it was best to simply stay out of his way.

Which meant they needed allies who would want to do the same. Allies who felt the same way they did. Allies who, while they might agree with Rufus on principle, realized that they couldn't get wrapped up in any sort of rebellion if they wanted to get out of the arena alive. And that was, after all, what everyone wanted.

Wasn't it?

* * *

" _Life depends on change and renewal."_


	20. Training: Choices

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the bloodbath poll if you haven't already. I'll be up until the end of training.

* * *

 **Training Day One  
** **Choices**

* * *

 **Demetrius Ashworth, 37  
** **District Two**

So far, everything was going according to plan.

Demetrius nodded to Irina and Gareth as the three of them arrived at the training center. They were among the first to arrive; that much was clear. Maybe some of the others weren't particularly eager to start thinking about killing each other. Maybe they figured that, after their own Games, they didn't really need so much practice. Maybe they remembered how useless three days of training had really been before their first Games.

Three days of training wasn't nearly enough, after all – not to accomplish anything worthwhile. The first Careers had realized that. Now, Careers had years of training under their belts by the time they reached the Games. And even then, they sometimes lost. If years of training couldn't reliably prepare tributes every time, what good would three days do?

Yet the Capitol continued the practice, because it made them feel better about themselves. They weren't throwing tributes into the Games unprepared – or so they told themselves. They could point to the outer districts' training scores – usually somewhat inflated to rival the Careers' – and praise how much they'd learned in the three days provided. It was an act. A game.

And, for better or worse, it worked.

The trio entered the training center to find four tributes already at work. Hadrian and Aelin were practicing at the spear station. Demetrius fought back a twinge of guilt. They'd worked as hard as any Careers. They were just as deserving of a place in the pack.

But he'd made his choice, and it was too late to change his mind now. He'd found new allies, and so had they. It was too late to go back. Too late to change the course of events that had already been set in motion.

So, instead, he, Irina, and Gareth approached the other pair of tributes to arrive early – Jani and Ira, who were practicing with a pair of daggers. Demetrius turned to Gareth and Irina, who nodded encouragingly. Of the potential allies they'd discussed, Ira and Jani had seemed the most promising – and already seemed to be working together. If they could secure an alliance now, that would bring their total up to five. Almost a full Career pack.

"Good morning." Demetrius took a step closer as Jani and Ira turned, surprised. "I see we're not the only ones who wanted to get an early start."

Jani shrugged. "I guess not."

"We were wondering whether—"

"We're not interested," Jani blurted out before he got any farther.

Demetrius raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

Jani shook his head. "You didn't just happen to wander over here. You came to ask about an alliance. The other Careers have four tributes; you have three. Makes sense that you'd want to recruit a few more for … what? Extra bodies to boost your numbers? Expendable targets for anyone looking to attack the Careers? No thank you."

Demetrius smiled a little. For a moment, he'd almost forgotten that he was talking to seasoned Victors. "That's not what we're looking for, Jani."

"Bullshit." To Demetrius' surprise, though, Jani didn't seem angry. In fact, he was chuckling. "Why don't you tell me, then, why you want me in your pack? Why ask someone who spent his entire Games hiding in a little room below deck, hoping the other tributes wouldn't find him? Why ask someone whose only kill was all but an accident, in a moment of panic? Are you really _that_ desperate for allies that _I_ seem like a good idea?"

Demetrius opened his mouth to explain, but Jani had hit closer to the mark than he wanted to admit. It was _Ira_ who had seemed like a good option for an ally, and she and Jani had appeared to have already agreed to an alliance. If it was going to be both or neither, he would rather have them both. But if Jani was dead set against the idea…

Demetrius turned to Ira. "And you?"

Ira hesitated for a moment, but then shook her head. "Thank you, but … no. We're going to have to decline."

"No hard feelings," Jani called as Demetrius turned to go. "We just don't want to die."

Demetrius couldn't help smiling a little at that. In Jani's situation, he might well have done the same. But in Ira's…

District loyalty, probably. And maybe that counted for something. Ira and Jani knew each other well. They had mentored together. They were close. If she would rather die at Jani's side than seek out a better alliance alone, that was her choice.

But it wasn't the choice he would have made.

* * *

 **Hadrian Xiao, 49  
** **District One**

It wasn't the choice he would have made.

Hadrian shook his head as he watched Demetrius, Irina, and Gareth make their way over to the sword station – away from Jani and Ira. He understood Demetrius' decision to leave him and Aelin, but it was a choice he would never have made himself. There was a part of him, in fact, that wanted to run over to Demetrius and invite him back into the pack – along with Gareth and Irina, if he wanted. That would bring their number up to seven. A normal Career pack, plus one.

But that option was already gone. It was gone the moment he and Aelin had accepted Clark and Hatchet as allies. Demetrius, Irina, and Gareth might see the value in having Clark as an ally, but Hatchet? A seventy-seven-year-old woman who had won her Games by tricking other tributes into thinking she was a helpless little girl, only to stab them in the back when it suited her? Not exactly Career material.

He forced himself to smile, however, as his two newest allies finally arrived at the training center, followed by most of the other tributes. One by one, they all found a station, most of them choosing something they were already familiar with, leaving the trainers standing by, looking terribly bored. Hadrian turned to his allies. His pack. "So … what don't any of us know?"

Aelin cocked an eyebrow. She'd clearly been perfectly comfortable here at the spear station. "Pardon?"

"I said, what don't we know? There's no point standing here practicing with a weapon we already know how to use when we could be doing something more beneficial. And the more we stand around as a group, the more intimidating we look. So split up, find something you're not familiar with, and learn something."

Aelin scoffed. "Who put you in charge?"

Hadrian hesitated. Who _had_ appointed him the leader? It certainly wasn't a position he was used to. But Aelin seemed content to stay at the spear station, reviewing old skills, maybe reliving her first time through the training center. But they didn't have time for that.

On the other hand, there was no point in arguing with her. There never was. Hadrian shrugged. "Or stay here, if you like. I'm going to go learn how to catch a fish." With that, he turned and headed for the fishing station. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he could see Hatchet reaching for a spear, while Aelin gave her own a throw, then turned to give Hatchet some pointers. Clark, on the other hand, was headed for the first aid station. Hadrian smiled a little. At least he had the right idea. And Hatchet certainly hadn't used a spear before. Aelin, on the other hand…

Eventually, she would figure it out. Eventually, she would realize that she couldn't just rely on sharpening her skills from her first Games. That she would have to pick up some new skills, to play things differently, if she wanted to have a chance.

But that wasn't his problem. Not really. Because if he wanted to win, then eventually Aelin would have to die, along with Hatchet and Clark. And if the fact that she hadn't practiced anything new ended up being a weakness that he could use against her, then all the better.

At least, that was what he tried to tell himself as he sat down at the fishing station, watching as the trainer started a demonstration on proper fishhook-making techniques. During his own Games, there hadn't been much call for fishing. And there probably wouldn't be this time, either. But, in case there _was_ , he might as well be prepared.

Because, this time, he couldn't rely on allies from District Four to know what they were doing around the water. Galen still hadn't given him a straight answer about an alliance, and Cedra…

Cedra was sitting nearby, tying a few knots, but had shown no interest whatsoever in being part of a pack. Either pack. Whether she was afraid or didn't think she was good enough or just assumed _they_ wouldn't think she was good enough, Hadrian wasn't sure. Either way, if it wasn't an alliance she wanted, he certainly wasn't going to force it on her.

Because those sort of alliances – alliances made because one tribute pushed for it until the other simply gave in – never went well. Alliances that lasted were ones that were mutually beneficial. Ones where tributes could respect each other. Where there was leadership, but not absolute control. Some level of trust, but not total reliance. It was all about balance.

And it was a balance he meant to keep.

* * *

 **Freya Basnett, 44  
** **District Two**

Apparently, Hadrian wanted to keep them guessing.

Freya cocked an eyebrow as Hadrian sat down at the fishing station, watching the trainer patiently, looking like anything but the leader of a Career pack. Was that the idea? Did he think they would seem less intimidating, less of a group to be reckoned with, if they split up and focused on rather harmless-seeming stations?

Maybe it wasn't a terrible strategy. But no one was really going to fall for it. They knew what he was capable of, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

Freya glanced back at the fire she had almost succeeded in starting. Maybe she was doing the same thing, in the end. Pretending not to be a threat. Pretending not to be the Career she had been during her own Games. What was the difference between her and Hadrian?

Freya shook her head, rubbing the pieces of wood together as hard as she could. There _was_ a difference. Hadrian had been an active part of the Career system right up to the moment he volunteered for the Games a second time. He couldn't simply distance himself from that world now, any more than she could pretend she still belonged in it. He was still a Career. She wasn't. It was as simple as that.

"They're ignoring us."

Freya looked up, a bit startled, as Cedra took a seat next to her. "Who?"

"The other Careers. They didn't even _ask_ if we wanted to be part of their pack. Either of them."

Freya cocked an eyebrow. "I saw Hadrian and Aelin talking with you and Galen last night. What was that about?"

Cedra shook her head. "It was Galen they wanted. And he said … well, I guess he said no, because he wasn't with them this morning. I just thought, with there being two Career packs, one of them might want me."

Freya nodded. "Did you ask Demetrius?"

"No, but…"

But she already knew what the answer would be. Even if she managed to convince Demetrius to let her join his pack, he would likely see her as the weakest link.

Freya smiled a little, laying a hand on Cedra's shoulder. "Well, I can't offer you much of a pack, Cedra, but I'd be happy to have you as an ally."

"You … you would? Why?"

Freya hesitated. Why _was_ she so certain? She didn't really know Cedra. By the time Cedra had won, Freya had long since retired from mentoring. She knew only what she had seen during Cedra's Games … and what she had seen at the reaping.

But that was enough. "Because I've been where you are. Caught between two worlds. Wanting to move on from the Games, but not quite knowing how. Trying to find your place as a Victor in a district that, despite its love of the Games, really hasn't got the first idea what you've been through." She gave Cedra's shoulder a squeeze. "I've been there. I got through it. Let me help you get through it, too."

Cedra smiled, but Freya already knew how empty her words sounded. _Get through it._ The only way to _get through it_ was to survive the Games – again – and only one of them could do that. Didn't she want it to be her? Did she want it to be Cedra? And, no matter what she wanted, chances were, neither of them was going to make it out alive.

So they might as well help each other while they could. "Thank you," Cedra whispered, her hands shaking as she reached for a few pieces of wood and started making a fire of her own. After a moment, she started giggling a little. Slowly, giggling turned to laughing.

Freya couldn't help smiling along. "What's so funny?"

Cedra shook her head. "Nothing. It's just … well, the two of us have as many Careers as any of the other alliances."

Freya smiled. It _was_ pretty funny, now that she thought of it. And maybe a little ironic. In trying to distance herself from the Careers, she'd ended up allying with one. But this … this was an alliance she could live with. An ally she could help.

At least for a little while.

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 21  
** **District Four**

At least she had found someone.

Cedra smiled contentedly as she finally managed to start a fire. This was working out better than she'd thought. On the train, she'd been worried she wouldn't be able to find any allies at all, after what had happened during the reaping. But Freya didn't seem concerned about that. In fact, she didn't really seem concerned about anything.

Cedra wished she could say the same. Even before the reaping, it seemed like ages since she hadn't been concerned about anything. Years since she'd been able to actually relax. Before the Games.

Cedra placed a few more sticks on her fire. It seemed like so long ago – those four years. The years leading up to the Games – they'd been fun. The reaping, the train rides, the chariots – all of it had been so exciting the first time. She hadn't been concerned at all.

Not until her private sessions with the Gamemakers. Something had gone wrong. Something she still couldn't put her finger on. Maybe she had seemed nervous. Hesitant. Whatever the reason, she had scored only a six – much lower than her fellow Careers.

It seemed like a little thing now, but everything had gone wrong from there. She had panicked during the bloodbath, allowing a group of tributes to make off with a good portion of the supplies. From that point, she'd been relegated to guard duty, watching the supplies along with the boy from One while the other Careers were out hunting.

Things had only gotten worse. A group of three tributes had attacked, and Cedra had done nothing. She had stood there, useless, as the boy from One had killed one of the attackers but been brought down by the next one, and the pair of remaining tributes had fled with a share of the Careers' supplies while Cedra had stood there, simply waving her sword at them.

Cedra swallowed hard. From that moment, she had run. She had run from her allies. Run from the other tributes she came across. She had killed only when she'd had no other choice. Only when she'd been attacked. Maybe it was no surprise the other Careers didn't want her. Maybe it had nothing to do with her reaction at the reaping. Maybe they remembered. It had only been four years ago, after all. Of course they remembered.

But Freya … surely she remembered, as well. And she had accepted her as an ally nonetheless. No, not just accepted her. She had _offered_ the alliance. Freya, who had been anything but hesitant during her own Games, who had totaled six kills, who had never seemed to question her place in her alliance – she had chosen Cedra.

But not because of her skills. That much, at least, had been clear. _I've been where you are,_ she had said. Had she? Had she really? Had someone as confident, as calm, as certain as Freya seemed to be really experienced the same fear, the same doubt, the same hesitance during her own Games?

Or had she meant that she had been in the same place _after_ the Games – searching for her place, trying to figure out how to move on with her life? She seemed to have managed it fairly well. Until now, of course. But none of them could have anticipated this. None of them could have prepared for this.

Could they?

Of course not. The Quell twist had come as a surprise to them all. Some of them had simply handled the shock better than others. Cedra bit her lip as she piled more wood on her flames. She had handled it badly. But maybe … well, maybe none of that mattered now. Once they were here, in the Capitol, did it really matter what any of them had done at the reaping?

It certainly hadn't mattered the first time. The confidence, the excitement, the anticipation she had felt at the reaping had disappeared once the Games had begun. So maybe this time it would work in reverse. Maybe once she was back in the Games, the doubt she felt now wouldn't matter. The fact that the other Careers had rejected her wouldn't matter. She would have a second chance to prove herself.

And this time, she would do better.

* * *

 **Camryn Cartier, 34  
** **District Six**

They would have to do better this time.

Camryn drummed her fingers on her leg as the bell rang for lunch. She and Evo quickly made their way to one of the tables. The pair of them had spent the morning moving from one survival station to another. Trying to go unnoticed – for a little while, at least – after the stunt they had pulled during the chariot rides.

But they couldn't go unnoticed forever. That wasn't the plan.

She hadn't realized, until last night, that there _was_ a plan. A chance. Rufus had approached the pair of them after the parade and explained what he intended. It was dangerous. It was almost outrageous. But if there was a chance…

Was there? Was there a chance? The question had been gnawing at her all night. Evo didn't seem the least bit bothered by the very real possibility that they might fail. Then again, Evo hadn't seemed bothered by much since the train rides. He didn't have anything to lose if they failed.

Well, nothing except his own life, of course. But, chances were, both of them were going to lose that, anyway. Rufus had made that perfectly clear. The Capitol had no intention of letting anyone who had expressed so much as a dissatisfaction with the Games leave the arena alive.

And she had no reason to doubt his claims. Nothing he was proposing was any crueler than what the Capitol had already done. What they had already proven they were capable of. If she was only risking her own life, as Evo was, she would have agreed more readily. But as it was…

As it was, she wasn't just risking her life. She was risking Kyler's life. Her sister's life. Her parents' lives. So she had to be certain that they had enough support. Which was why she hadn't committed – not yet. She had told Rufus maybe. Maybe, if enough of the others were willing to take the risk.

But there was no way of knowing, unless they found a way to ask. Something subtle. Something the people who were undoubtedly watching them – either in person or on a camera somewhere – wouldn't notice. So their first move was to split up. Camryn took a deep breath, nodded to Evo, and took a seat as casually as she could next to Ebony.

She had been one of the first tributes they had decided to ask. They had narrowed the list to tributes who had a reason to hate the Capitol – a reason that went beyond being picked for the Games in the first place. Which was reason enough, now that she thought about it, but there were some of the tributes who had larger reasons. Ebony's parents – surely that would be reason enough.

"Eating alone?" Stupid way to start a conversation. But she had never been very good at small talk. She preferred to get to the point, but that was the one thing they couldn't do – not when everyone else was watching.

"Not anymore, I guess." Ebony managed a smile.

"I have a question for you."

Ebony nodded. Maybe she'd expected that much, at least. Tributes didn't generally go around talking to others with no purpose at all. Not even this year, when they all knew each other. Some of her fellow Victors had sat down at tables with their old friends, but most were trying to avoid larger groups. Trying not to be reminded of the fact that they were all friends.

Had been friends.

Could still be friends, if Rufus' plan succeeded.

"I'm here to offer an alliance." When that got only a nod from Ebony, she continued. "Me, Evo, you, and maybe a few others. And someone from Five."

Camryn waited a moment as Ebony put the pieces together. The fact that Valion and Shyanne, the two tributes from Five, were eating together over at the other end of the room and didn't seem to be in any way involved in the proposal. That this 'alliance' was more than an alliance. More than a temporary plan to get a little farther in the Games. It was a plan. A plot. Maybe a way to put an end to this whole thing. Ebony's eyes grew a little wider, and Camryn nodded.

"So what do you say?"

* * *

 **Ebony Kracov, 19  
** **District Nine**

"So what do you say?"

Ebony sat, frozen, as Camryn waited for an answer. What _could_ she say? What Camryn was proposing – if she was proposing some sort of an alliance with Rufus, some sort of plan that he'd orchestrated – was dangerous. Rebellious. There was no way she should even consider what Camryn was offering.

And yet…

And yet she couldn't shake the feeling that it was what her parents would have wanted. What they would have done. They had tried, in their own way, to stop the Games. They had tried to save her life – and the lives of the other children in the arena.

And they had failed. They had died. Which was exactly what would happen to her if things went wrong now. And things would go wrong. They always did. Even with Rufus – even with some sort of help from outside the arena – things would go wrong. What could he possibly be planning that he thought had a _chance_ of actually succeeding?

Camryn couldn't tell her, of course. Not here. Not now. Not with so many people watching. So many people listening. Maybe she didn't even know exactly what it was that she was suggesting. Maybe she only knew that Rufus had a plan.

Rufus. She had no reason to trust Rufus. No reason to think that whatever plan he had would actually succeed. What had he managed to do so far, after all? He'd written a book that had been promptly banned by the Capitol. It was a wonder he hadn't gotten himself reaped this year. Surely the Capitol would consider him one of the more rebellious Victors. So why was she here, while he was safe?

But that wasn't the real question. The real question was, what did he really think he was going to be able to do? What did _she_ think he would be able to do? Because the two might not be the same thing, after all. Just because _he_ thought his plan had a chance of success…

 _You can't get involved in this._ Aras' words during the chariot rides the night before came back to her unbidden. _I wasn't planning to_ , she had said. And she had meant it. She'd had no intention of get involved. She had too much to lose. Not only her own life, but her sister's life.

And Camryn – she had a family. Parents, a sister, a fiancé. Why was she risking their lives? Was she _that_ certain that Rufus would succeed?

No. No, that much was clear. For a moment, Ebony's eyes met Camryn's. She didn't seem confident. She didn't even seem hopeful. She seemed desperate. As if she was convinced this was the _only_ way she would survive. As if she didn't have a chance of surviving the Games on her own.

Ebony clenched her fists. Either way, the odds weren't good. One out of twenty-four. Or one out of…

Who knew? Who could say what the odds of success were if she participated in Rufus' plan. There was no way of knowing.

And, in the end, maybe that was the problem. It wasn't her plan. It wasn't her decision. If she agreed to what Camryn was proposing – what _Rufus_ was proposing – then her fate would rest on the success or failure of his plan. If she refused, her life would be in her own hands.

But, more importantly, Kyla would be safe. Her life wouldn't be at risk at all. Ebony shook her head. "I'm sorry. I … I can't. I wish I could, but…"

Camryn nodded. "I understand."

And maybe she did. Maybe she had the same questions. The same doubts. The same concerns about her family.

Ebony glanced away as they ate. She could understand where Camryn was coming from, but there probably weren't too many Victors who would be willing to take her up on her offer. Willing to risk not only their lives but the lives of everyone they loved for…

For what? What did she really think was going to happen? What was she really hoping to accomplish? At best, they would save a few lives – the lives of the Victors who made it out. But then what? Did they have any plan at all for what would happen afterwards? Maybe.

Or maybe, deep down, they realized it wouldn't get that far.

* * *

 **Felix Norwood, 25  
** **District Twelve**

Maybe they had finally realized he had nothing to lose.

Felix nodded along as Evo rambled, mumbling about this and that, probably hoping to throw off anyone who was listening. He wasn't fooling anyone. They had all seen the stunt he'd pulled during the chariot rides. They had all seen Rufus approach Evo and Camryn afterwards, eager and smiling. Anyone with half a brain could figure out what was going on.

Which meant the _Capitol_ could figure out what was going on. And apparently they either didn't care, didn't think he had a chance in hell, or were just waiting to make their own move. Which one it was, Felix wasn't sure. And maybe it didn't matter. This little rebellion that Rufus was planning, that Evo was suggesting – it was doomed.

But so were all of them, so where was the harm in playing along?

Felix nodded along, listening, part of him wishing that Evo would just ask what he had come over to ask and be done with it. "So what do you think?" Evo finally asked. "Are you interested?"

Felix simply nodded. "Yes."

A hint of a smile crossed Evo's face. "No hesitation. I like that. Any idea who else might be interested in an alliance?"

Felix hesitated. Throwing away his own life was one thing. He was as good as dead, anyway. But the other Victors – would they be so willing? Who would they be able to talk into something like this? From the look of it, Camryn wasn't having much luck with Ebony. Maybe…

"How about Silvesta?" Felix asked with a shrug. She had volunteered, after all. She could dress it up as trying to save Moira's life, but the truth was that part of her wanted to be the one in the Games. Wanted to be the one to sacrifice her life for someone else. And if she was willing to do that, then maybe she could be talked into sacrificing it for something else…

Evo nodded. "Good. Who else?"

 _Who else?_ As if he knew more of the Victors than Evo did. "Shyanne?" She was one of the younger Victors, certainly. It was no secret she used part of her winnings as a Victor to fund the district community home. Just the sort of person who _might_ be talked into risking their life for a greater cause.

Evo glanced over at the table where Shyanne and Valion were calmly eating their lunch. "I'm sure Rufus already asked…"

Felix shrugged. "Rufus probably asked _both_ of them, and Valion would know better. I'll distract Valion. You ask Shyanne."

Evo raised an eyebrow but didn't argue as Felix made his way over to the table and plopped down next to Valion. "Hey. I don't mean to be rude, but the computer at the plant identification station seems to be running a little slow, and I was wondering if you might have any idea how to…"

To Felix's surprise, Valion chuckled a little. "Let's go check it out, then."

Felix almost laughed out loud. Part of him hadn't expected that to actually work. It was almost as if Valion knew…

Maybe he did. Maybe he knew exactly what was going on. Felix glanced behind him as the pair headed over to the plants station. Evo hadn't wasted any time making his way over to Shyanne. Did Valion know? He certainly didn't seem the least bit bothered by the idea of leaving his district partner – and only ally – alone.

Felix shook his head. And why should he? It was easy to think of Shyanne as a little girl, but the truth was that she was just as much of an adult as he was. As any of them were. If she'd wanted to come along, she could have. If she wanted to say no to Evo, she could. None of them were forcing her to do anything.

At least, that was what he tried to tell himself as Valion settled in next to the computer and started fiddling with the wires. Within a matter of minutes, he had, in fact, managed to get the computer working faster. Felix nodded, feigning gratitude. "Thanks."

Valion nodded. "Not a problem. Feel free to let me know if there are any other … glitches." He headed back to the table, where Evo had already left.

Things were working out better than he'd thought.

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

"So what did he say?"

Valion slid back into his seat across from Shyanne. Once Rufus had returned to their room last night, pleased as punch, Valion had done his best to get his fellow Victor to explain exactly what he had planned – to no avail. Either Rufus didn't fully trust him, or he figured someone would be listening. But he almost certainly had a plan.

Shyanne smiled a little. "Evo doesn't know exactly what it is, either. But it sounds like they're hoping to get a large enough group of tributes to agree _not_ to fight each other. Maybe even all of them. If we can all refuse to fight during the bloodbath—"

Valion nodded a little. The bloodbath _would_ be the right time to try to make some sort of a statement, since it was the only time during the Games when they would be guaranteed to have all the tributes in the same place. But in order for anything of the sort to work, _all_ of the tributes would have to agree. Not just most of them. _All_ of them. As soon as one or two of them started fighting, it would all be over…

"It won't work," Valion said quietly.

Shyanne giggled a little. "Of course not. And he knows that. But if enough of us _try_ …"

 _Us._ When had it become 'us'? "You didn't agree to join them."

"No, but I didn't tell them no. They're right, Valion. This is all wrong. If we make a stand, then…"

Valion reached across the table and laid a hand on Shyanne's, hoping to silence her. "Then we die. And everyone we care about dies. And _nothing changes_. Nothing. Twenty-three tributes die every year in the Games, and twenty-three will die this year. Do you really think the Capitol cares _why_ they died? What they _believe_ they died for?"

"This year is different."

"Why? Because the Capitol cares about us? Because the audience loves us? How long do you think that will last if we turn on them and refuse to play along? They want their Games, and they'll have their Games."

"Rufus thinks—"

"Then he's wrong!" The words left his mouth before he could stop them – and louder than he'd intended. Valion glanced around, but no one seemed to care. "If he thinks he has a chance – even a slight chance of success – then he's wrong because he underestimated the Capitol. If he realizes he can't succeed and is willing to get all of us killed, anyway, then he's wrong to risk our lives for a lost cause. Either way, we can't take part in this. You can't—"

"Don't." Shyanne's voice was suddenly cold. Harsh. She pulled away from his grip and shook her head. "Don't tell me what I can't do." With that, she got up and headed for the weapons station, where Evo, Camryn, and Felix were already working together, practicing with an assortment of swords.

For a moment, Valion simply sat there, silent. On the one hand, she was right. It was her choice. If she wanted to throw her life away for Rufus' lost cause, then who was he to stop her? It was her choice. It was her life.

But it wasn't just her life. Maybe she didn't see it, because she'd grown up without a family. But there were still people the Capitol could use against her. People they could hurt. People she cared about – whether she was thinking about them right now or not.

Valion shook his head and made his way back to the knot-tying station where he and Shyanne had spent the morning, but his heart wasn't in it. After about an hour or so, he headed back upstairs to their room, where Audric was waiting for him. Rufus was nowhere to be seen.

"How'd it go?" Audric asked as Valion sank into a seat on the couch. "Where's Shyanne?"

Valion closed his eyes. He hadn't wanted to do this. He hadn't wanted to get involved. He had been hoping – as he was sure Audric had, as well – that Rufus would realize his plan was doomed and…

And what? Give up? No. No, they had been silly to hope for that. Rufus wasn't going to give up. He wasn't going to stop. And, if they weren't careful, he was going to drag Shyanne down with him. Valion took a long sip of the tea Audric had made sure was ready for him, then turned to his mentor.

"We have to do something."

* * *

" _Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones. But you still have to choose."_


	21. Training: Answers

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the bloodbath poll if you haven't already.

* * *

 **Training Day Two  
** **Answers**

* * *

 **Shyanne James, 19  
** **District Five**

 _We have to do something._

Shyanne turned over in bed as Evo's words echoed in her mind. Rufus' words, really. It was Rufus' plan. His idea. But, really, it belonged to all of them. Everyone who knew how unfair the Quell was. Everyone who was tired of the fighting.

But why was it their job to end it?

Shyanne opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling. She'd barely gotten an hour of sleep. Why was it their responsibility? Why was it their job? It had been their job to survive the Games the first time. Their job to mentor tribute after tribute, year after year. Why did this have to fall to them, too? Why was it never anyone else's turn?

But if they didn't make a stand, who would? The people in the Capitol? They just wanted a good show – the same as always. The people in the districts? They were too afraid – and rightfully so.

So why wasn't she?

She'd been wondering that since Evo had come to talk to her during lunch. She should be terrified – not just for her own sake, but for the sake of everyone she cared about back in District Five. The children at the orphanage. Her friends. Connor, Ilene, Tamara, Margie. Maybe she didn't have a family – not the way Valion or Audric did – but she had people she loved. People whose lives could be in danger if she showed any signs of rebelling.

So why wasn't she afraid?

Silently, Shyanne reached over to turn on the lamp. The lack of fear now was strange, maybe, but it was also familiar. It was the same way she'd felt after her allies had left her for dead in a room filling with poisonous gas. She'd been terrified, crying their names, begging for them to come back and help – until the gas had taken hold, filling her mind not only with violent images with a strange sort of courage. A determination she hadn't realized she'd had. Suddenly, the danger hadn't mattered. Everything had been clear.

Just as it was clear now – even if it was terrible. Something had to be done. And they were they only ones who could do it. Shyanne took a deep breath, got dressed, and headed for Rufus' room. It was almost time for breakfast, anyway. Surely she wouldn't be waking him…

She knocked lightly on the door, but there was no response. Maybe he _was_ asleep, after all. Shyanne turned around, ready to head to the breakfast table on her own, but something stopped her. Something was wrong. She knocked on the door again – harder. This time, when there was no response, she turned the doorknob herself, and the door swung open.

"Help!" she called immediately. "Valion! Audric! Someone! Come help!" But part of her already knew it was too late. Rufus was dead, his lifeless body hanging from a rope around his neck, swinging back and forth as she hurried to untie it. "Help!" she called again, just as she had seven years before, begging for her allies to come back and help her.

Except this time, someone came. Valion and Audric rushed into the room, immediately switching the lights on, helping her cut Rufus down, checking for a pulse. Audric shook his head, confirming what they already knew. Rufus was gone.

"They did this," Shyanne whispered. "The Capitol. Somehow, they…"

"We don't know that," Valion pointed out. "Look at the rope. He could have—"

Shyanne shook her head emphatically. "No. No, he wouldn't have. Not when…" But she stopped herself before she said it. Not when he had a plan. Not when he knew we were all counting on him. Not when he was the one who was determined to save them all.

But he wasn't the only one who had known that – that they were relying on him, on his plan. She had known … and Valion had known. Why had he been so quick to suggest that Rufus might have killed himself? Was he trying to cover for someone else? Someone else … or himself?

No. No, she was just being paranoid. Valion wouldn't … Would he? He had sounded certain, the day before, that Rufus' plan wouldn't work. He had been rather desperate to stop her from joining the other rebels. But was he really desperate enough to do something like _this_?

No. No, it couldn't be. But if it wasn't him, then who? Audric? One of the others who had gotten wind of their plan? Someone in the Capitol? Had the orders come from the president, or was this more personal? She had no way of knowing who was responsible – and who she could trust.

Tears in her eyes, Shyanne fled back to her room. She had been certain she could trust Valion. That he would never hurt her. That he would never hurt _anyone_. She had thought that he, of all people, would be one of the first to latch onto any idea that would keep them from having to kill each other. Had it all been an act? Had he been using her to get information about Rufus?

Was there anyone here she could actually trust?

* * *

 **Evo Ortega, 59  
** **District Six**

"What are we supposed to do now?"

Evo glanced around at the rest of the group. Shyanne, Felix, Camryn – all looking to him to make some sort of decision. Who had appointed him leader? Maybe it was because of the little stunt he had pulled during the chariot rides. Maybe that made him leader by default now that Rufus…

Rufus. Word about what had happened had spread like wildfire among the Victors. There were whispers – rumors – about who might have been responsible. Clearly, none of them believed the Capitol's cover story – that Rufus' death was clearly a suicide, perhaps brought on by the thought of losing two of his close friends.

Bullshit, of course, but the audience would lap it up like dogs, ready to believe anything that might add to the drama, the tragedy, of the Games. Among the Victors, however, there was a heavy silence. Shyanne shook her head and repeated the question. "What now? He was going to—"

Evo nodded, cutting her off. She was right. Rufus had been an integral part of the plan. The thought was that, if they could stall long enough, keep the Victors from fighting for a day – maybe two – Rufus could work to convince the audience that the Victors would _never_ fight, that the whole endeavor of pitting lifelong friends against each other was both barbaric and futile.

It was a long shot – being able to stop them from fighting, even for a little while. Anything more than a day or two was out of the question, but, with Rufus – and maybe one or two of the others, if they realized he had a chance – working on the outside, it _might_ have been possible. But now…

Camryn answered for him. "Now nothing. It's over. This is their warning to us – _all_ of us. If we try this – if we try _anything_ – what's to stop them from doing to our families what they did to Rufus?"

Felix shook his head. "So we give up? Roll over and let them win? Tuck our tails between our legs and admit we never had a chance?"

"We never _had_ a chance!" Camryn glanced at Evo. At Shyanne. Finally, exasperated, she turned and headed off to the sword station.

Evo nodded. Maybe it was better this way. He didn't have much to lose, but Camryn – she had a family. "If anyone else wants to leave … now's the time. Before things get ugly."

Felix shook his head. "Things are going to get ugly either way. I'm in."

Evo smiled a little. "Shyanne?"

Shyanne bit her lip, her usual cheeriness gone. For a moment, she glanced over at Valion, sitting by himself at the first aid station, staring into the distance. "You told him what we were planning," Evo reminded her. "Less than twenty-four hours later, Rufus was dead. Is that really someone you want on your side?"

Shyanne shook her head, a hint of a smile returning. "You told _me_ what you were planning, and less than twenty-four hours later, Rufus was dead. How do you know _I_ didn't kill him?"

Evo chuckled a little. "Because you're not a monster."

"Valion isn't—"

"You aren't old enough to remember his Games, Shyanne. I am. It was an airport – large, complex, almost like a maze. Early on, he found the control room. Cameras, switches, controls – the works. He could monitor the other tributes, turn the force fields on and off, control the lights. Just like a Gamemaker. He drove one of my tributes into the path of the Careers, forced the other down a dark corridor where another tribute was waiting. He forced the stronger tributes together, then picked off the weaker ones himself."

Shyanne swallowed hard, and Evo could see doubt starting to creep over her face. "Oh, we all killed during our Games. I did. You did. We killed when we had to in order to survive. But there's a difference between that and what he did. So if you're asking which one of you I would suspect – which one of you I would believe to be capable of this sort of cold, calculated murder – my money's on him, kid."

It wasn't entirely a lie. Of the two of them, Valion was the better suspect. But, of course, it wasn't between the two of them. There were plenty of other suspects. Dozens of people with a better reason to kill Rufus than Valion had. But the suggestion was enough – enough to plant a seed of doubt.

And a seed was enough.

Finally, Shyanne nodded a little. "All right. I'm with you. So what's the plan."

Evo shook his head. He didn't have a plan. Not really. Not anything that he thought would work, now that Rufus was gone. Now that it was clear that it would just be the three of them. But he had to say something. "We stay alive," he decided at last. "We stay together. And we give 'em hell – for as long as we can." It wasn't much of a plan, maybe. But it was something.

And maybe that was enough.

* * *

 **Ira Hope, 36  
** **District Eleven**

Maybe that would be enough to satisfy the Capitol.

Ira watched silently as Camryn made her way to the sword station, leaving Evo, Shyanne, and Felix huddled together in a group. She'd finally realized what the rest of them already knew – that the Capitol wasn't just going to sit back and let them carry out their plan.

But the realization had come too late to help Camryn. Whatever chance she'd had of recovering from Evo's stunt during the train rides, of convincing the Capitol to support her, and maybe even of finding any allies – it was gone. The Capitol would never support anyone they perceived as a rebel. In fact, they would almost certainly throw their support behind _anyone_ who opposed or killed tributes who appeared rebellious.

So maybe…

Ira turned to Jani. "Follow me." Jani raised an eyebrow, but quickly followed her over to the sword station, where Camryn was already sparring with one of the trainers. Ira quickly chose a shorter sword and nodded to one of the other trainers, who charged.

And for a while, nothing else mattered. None of the politics. None of the schemes. For a few moments, blocking his attacks, striking with her own weapon, dodging and countering his blows – for a moment, she was a tribute again. During her own Games, she hadn't been particularly concerned with the politics and planning of it all. She'd simply wanted to survive.

And she had. She was here. But it was clear now that if she wanted to survive the Games again, she would have to play. _Really_ play – and not just physically. She had to start _thinking_ like a tribute again. Like a Victor.

Like a Victor the Capitol would want to see.

Finally, Ira held up her hand, stopping to catch her breath as Camryn did the same. Jani lingered off to the side, watching. Waiting to see what she would do. To her surprise, it was Camryn who spoke first. "Rough morning."

Ira nodded. "For all of us. I'm sorry about Rufus."

Camryn shook her head. "We weren't close."

That much was probably true, at least. No one, it seemed, had really been close to Rufus. And maybe … maybe that had been part of his problem. There had been plenty of Victors who had _hoped_ that he might succeed, but few who had trusted him enough to truly get involved in whatever it was he had been planning. Now that he was gone…

"You made the right choice," Ira ventured.

Camryn cocked an eyebrow. "The right choice?"

"Leaving Evo. After what he tried to pull during the chariot rides—"

"What are you saying?"

What _was_ she saying? Ira hesitated. "I'm saying that you're smart enough to choose the winning side. Smart enough to keep your distance from anyone who might be a … bad influence. And that's the sort of person I'd want – the sort of person _we'd_ want – on our side." She nodded to Jani, hoping he wouldn't blow it like he had with Demetrius. They'd given up the chance to be part of a Career pack, but this … this could be even better.

Camryn glanced over at Jani, then back at Ira. "You're suggesting an alliance – the three of us."

"Yes."

Ira shrugged. "Because you need someone. Alone, you'd be branded as a rebel, an outcast no one wanted as an ally. Or, worse, you'd end up getting sucked back into Evo's alliance. You need to prove that you're a legitimate player – not someone trying to ruin the game."

"And what do you get out of it?"

"The benefit of being an interesting _part_ of the drama while not being at the _center_ of the drama," Ira reasoned. "The intrigue that comes with being on the very _edge_ of something exciting – but without the danger of being at its core. Rufus, Evo, Felix – maybe even Shyanne – they're instigators. You're not. The Capitol knows that. We just have to remind them."

Camryn nodded. "I'll give it some thought."

"That's all I'm asking," Ira agreed. "Care to go again? Together?" She nodded towards the trainers.

Camryn hesitated, but then nodded her agreement. The trainers attacked, circling around the pair of them. Ira smiled as she and Camryn stood back to back, fending off the trainers' attacks. Maybe neither of them quite had the experience of a Career, but they made a good pair. But Jani…

Ira's gaze strayed to where her district partner had been standing, only to realize that he was gone. Ira's grip tightened on her sword. She hadn't meant to trade one ally for another – especially given what she had planned. She needed Jani on her side, and she had simply assumed that he would go along with what she was suggesting.

Had she been wrong?

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

They'd made the right choice.

Galen turned the small, blue berries Aras had handed him over in his hands. "Are you sure about these ones?"

Aras nodded confidently. "I'm sure. Throw them in the pot."

Galen shrugged and tossed the berries in their growing pile of edible plants. If Aras was sure, that was good enough for him. Aras had been the one, after all, who had been adamant about not joining up with either of the Career packs – a decision that certainly seemed to be the right one now.

Not that it hadn't been tempting. On the one hand, Aelin, Hadrian, and Hatchet were old friends, and Clark seemed like a decent kid. They were a more trustworthy group. A more stable group. Demetrius' group, on the other hand, had the advantage of youth. Demetrius, Gareth, and Irina were all in their prime.

But neither group seemed likely to grow significantly. As it was, they could rival each other. Focus on each other. Maybe even eliminate each other.

And then there was Cedra, who, it seemed, had decided to team up with Freya. And maybe that made sense. Careers who weren't quite Careers anymore, who didn't feel comfortable in the pack but didn't quite want to abandon each other.

And then there was him. It hadn't seemed to matter – at least to Aelin and Hadrian – that he wasn't quite a Career. That he hadn't trained for his Games, and certainly hadn't volunteered. Career training hadn't taken off in District Four as quickly as in One and Two. It wasn't until eleven years after his own victory that District Four's first Career Victor had emerged.

And maybe that was why the other Victors didn't seem as uneasy around him as they sometimes were around the other Victors from Career districts. The Careers had something of a reputation, after all – deserved or not. A reputation for coldness. For competition. Sometimes even for cruelty and bloodthirstiness.

And some of that was deserved. But, most of the time, tributes – even Career tributes – weren't in the Games for the fun of it. Some were manipulated into believing it was what they wanted. Perhaps they'd been told it was the only thing they would ever be good at. Some believed it was the only way to please their families, or the only way their lives would ever mean something.

Because that was what they all wanted, in the end – for their lives to mean something. Careers or not, older or younger, they all had that in common. They just wanted to know that, in some small way, their lives had made a difference.

"I'll get a fire going," Galen offered as Aras continued to sort the various plants at the station. Aras nodded, and Galen settled in with a stack of firewood. It had been a while since he'd done this. Since he'd _needed_ to do this.

"Need a hand?"

Galen glanced up to see Jani standing nearby. "If you like," Galen nodded. "Where's Ira?"

Jani nodded towards the sword station as he took a seat beside Galen. "Over there. Not sure what she's trying to do, really. What she thinks she's doing. I didn't want to get involved, but…"

"But she's not leaving you much choice," Aras observed.

"Exactly."

Galen shrugged. "So leave her."

Jani stared, clearly surprised he would even suggest such a thing. "We already agreed to an alliance – on the train. She's my district partner, and I thought…" He hesitated. "I didn't think anyone else would want me."

Galen chuckled a little, slinging an arm around Jani's shoulder. "You? Who wouldn't want _you_ as an ally? Now, I can see wanting to avoid a pair of old geezers like us—" He shot a smile at Aras, who rolled his eyes fondly. "But you? You've got so much to offer."

Jani shook his head. "Not because of my age. Because of how I won my Games."

"Who cares how you won?" Aras pointed out. "You won."

"I survived."

"Same thing," Galen shrugged.

"Not everyone thinks so."

"Course they don't," Galen chuckled. "Everyone thinks their way of winning is the best. What matters is, you're here. You're alive. And you've got the same chance as anyone else of staying that way."

"You really think so."

"Absolutely," Aras agreed. "Now, how about that fire?"

Jani finally cracked a smile as he started rubbing a few sticks together. Soon, he had a fire going. "So why all the berries?"

Galen grinned as he set up a pile of wood on either side of the fire, then set the metal pot full of berries on top to heat. "Stir that every so often, would you?" he asked, handing a makeshift spoon to Jani. "I'm going to see if I can find some bread."

Jani cocked an eyebrow. "What for?"

Galen shrugged. "To go with the jam you're stirring. I'm hungry."

* * *

 **Jani Aramine, 32  
** **District Eleven**

They weren't fooling anyone.

Jani almost burst out laughing, still stirring the jam, as Galen reappeared with three loaves of bread. He tossed one to Jani and the second to Aras. "Enjoy."

Jani tore off a chunk of bread, smothered it in jam, and took a large bite. The others quickly did the same. Jani wasn't entirely sure what sort of berries Aras and Galen had put in the mixture, but they were delicious. "It's very good," Jani finally managed to get out between bites.

Aras smiled. "Thanks. Maybe I'm not a great fighter, but I like to think I'm a decent cook."

Jani shook his head. "No one's buying it."

"Buying what?" Aras asked.

"The act. The _we're just two harmless old men making jam_ routine. It's _very_ good jam – don't get me wrong – but it doesn't change the fact that you're Victors."

" _Old_ Victors," Galen shrugged.

"Old Victors who have stayed in rather good shape," Jani pointed out. "Old Victors who can still hold their own in a fight – and with the benefit of years of experience. You saw most of our Games, whereas the younger ones weren't even alive for half of them. You know what to expect from each and every one of us."

Galen and Aras exchanged a look, and, for a moment, their smiles faded. "Maybe," Galen admitted. "But that doesn't make it an act. We're not over here making snacks because we thought it would earn people's sympathy or convince them to ignore us. We're over here because, after what happened to Rufus, with all the talk of politics and plotting and scheming and backstabbing … we wanted to do something real. Something fun. You can understand that, can't you?"

Jani nodded. He could. He'd been doing the same thing for years – escaping the horrors of his own Games by finding something – _anything_ – that could distract him. If these two wanted to do the same for the next few days, he could hardly begrudge them that.

And there was a part of him – a part that was growing with each bite – that wanted to stay with them. To ignore the weapons and the alliances and the Games and just … be happy. Just for a little while.

"But what about the Games?" Jani asked hesitantly.

Aras shrugged. "What about them?"

"We can't just ignore them away. In a few days—"

"Then that's something to worry about in a few days," Galen reasoned. "We all know what's coming. None of us are naïve enough to think that, if we pretend hard enough, the Games just won't happen. But think about it, Jani. Are a few days of training _really_ going to make any sort of difference in how ready we are for the arena? If fifty years haven't prepared me, what are the next few days going to do?"

"And if the answer is _nothing_ ," Aras continued, "then we might as well do what we damn well please with the time we have here. So, yeah, I could head over to the sword station and work up a sweat. I could go shoot a bow and prove that the last twenty years of making a hobby out of anything that catches my fancy have actually paid off. Or—" He took a long drink of something in a glass at his side – something that looked suspiciously like wine. "—I could stay here and have a delicious lunch."

"Not a hard choice, when you put it like that," Galen agreed, raising his own glass.

Jani cocked an eyebrow. "Where'd you get the wine?"

"My room," Aras shrugged. "Found it in a cabinet. Wasn't exactly hidden."

"Are we allowed to bring it down here?"

Galen and Aras burst out laughing, and, after a moment, Jani joined in. What did it matter whether or not they were technically allowed to bring wine down to the training area? What was the Capitol going to do? Make them fight to the death?

No. The Capitol had much bigger problems to worry about than a little drinking. They had their hands full dealing with a miniature rebellion. The miniature rebellion would have their hands full dealing with two Career packs trying to hunt them down. The Career packs would have their hands full dealing with each other. No one would be concerned with three cooks over in a corner, drinking and laughing and eating jam.

Three. Jani glanced over at Ira, who was still sparring alongside Camryn. She hadn't even invited him to join them. He wasn't even sure if he would have _wanted_ to join them. He didn't want to fight. He had never wanted to fight. Maybe they wouldn't have made such a good team, after all. Jani hesitated, then turned to Aras. "Can I have some?"

Aras grinned, produced another glass, and poured him a drink. "Of course. The more, the merrier."

The more, the merrier. Jani smiled as Aras handed him the wine. He certainly hadn't believed that the first time through the Games. He hadn't had any allies – merry or otherwise. He'd spent the Games alone, and that was something he didn't want to do this time.

And maybe he wouldn't have to.

* * *

 **Aras Everett, 63  
** **District Nine**

Maybe he and Galen wouldn't be alone, after all.

Aras clapped Jani on the shoulder as the bell rang for lunch. "Shall we?" Bread and jam were good, of course, but they certainly weren't a full meal. Jani quickly sprang to his feet as Galen doused the fire. Wouldn't want the rest of the room to catch on fire, after all…

Aras couldn't help smiling at the thought. It would serve the Capitol right if the room _did_ catch on fire. But he didn't say anything of the sort. He knew better. They all did. Well, _most_ of them did. And the ones who didn't…

The ones who didn't would be dead soon. He sometimes wondered how they'd made it through their Games in the first place – Evo, Rufus, Felix. How they'd survived, despite the Capitol's best efforts. But Rufus was gone. And Evo and Felix would soon be joining him.

 _Stop it._ No point in thinking like that. Evo and Felix would be dead, soon, of course – just like most of the people in the room – but dwelling on that wouldn't change it one way or the other.

So he might as well focus on what he _did_ have going for him. He had an ally. Maybe two, depending on whether Jani decided to take Galen's advice and leave Ira. He and Galen would be glad to have the young man as an ally, of course, but it had to be his choice. And leaving a district partner after he'd already agreed to an alliance – that was a tough choice.

It was a choice Aras was glad he wouldn't have to make. He and Ebony had all but agreed that an alliance between the two of them wouldn't be a good idea. He _had_ been relieved, however, to see that she had apparently dismissed Evo and Camryn's offer of an alliance the day before, considering how badly that had ended.

 _How badly it had ended._ That seemed like a rather mild way of putting it, of course. Rufus was dead. Murdered, he had no doubt. By the Capitol, he was almost certain. A few of the other Victors might have had concerns about what he was planning, but none of them would go so far as to kill a fellow Victor to keep him from … what? Trying to save their lives.

It was an ill-advised attempt from the start, of course. It was doomed to fail. But that didn't mean that any of them _wanted_ to see it fail. Even the Careers – none of them seemed particularly eager for another shot at the Games. One – maybe two – but none who would go out of their way to stop a rebellion that was never really a threat to them.

No, the only people who would benefit from Rufus' death were the president and his men. As far as the audience knew – which was as far as the president was choosing to report – Rufus' death had been a suicide. It was rare for a Victor, but not unheard of. The audience would eat it up, eager for anything that would add to the drama of the Games. They would never know the truth.

And even if some of them figured it out, what would they do? They would dismiss him as another rebel who deserved what he got. Rufus hadn't exactly kept his feelings about the Games – about the Capitol – a secret. Even if he had tried, nothing stayed hidden from the Capitol for long.

Which was why, in his experience, it was best not to try. For forty-five years, his life had been an open book. Every exploit, every adventure, every hobby – the audience would be familiar with it all.

Which was why Jani's assumption that they were trying to hide – pretending to be two old men only interested in making jam – was absurd. The Capitol knew what they were capable of. Not only what they _had_ been capable of forty years ago, but what they could do now. None of it was a secret, because they'd assumed it would never need to be.

Aras shook his head as he filled his plate. There were no secrets now – not for any of them. The tributes who had won their own Games by pretending to be helpless – that strategy wouldn't work this time. No one was going to be underestimated. Not a nineteen-year-old orphan who donated her winnings to charity. Not a seventy seven year old grandmother who had somehow managed to ally with the Careers. And not him.

So there was no point in trying. No point in deception. He'd never been one for deception, anyway. Even during his own Games, it had been brute force and sheer willpower that had gotten him through – not deception or clever planning. He'd been strong, and capable … and lucky. And that had been enough.

Whether it would be enough this time, he wasn't sure. But it was too late now. Too late to start hiding. Too late to pretend to be anything other than what he was.

He would just have to hope it would be enough – just one more time.

* * *

 **Silvesta Ardin, 47  
** **District Twelve**

"It just wasn't enough."

Silvesta shook her head as she slid into a seat next to Valion, who looked up, startled. "What wasn't?" he asked.

Silvesta nodded towards Felix and Shyanne, who were sitting at a table on the other side of the room, along with Evo. "Whatever you said to try to convince her not to join him, just like I tried to convince Felix." She had spoken to Felix the night before, tried to convince him that joining up with Evo – that taking part in any sort of rebellion – would be suicide. But he was as stubborn as ever. Convinced that the Capitol had it in for him, anyway.

And maybe he was right. Maybe he had as much right to risk his life for this as she had to volunteer. She shook her head. "Try as we might, they have to make their own choices, in the end. They have to make their own mistakes. And so do we."

Valion looked away. "I made the wrong choice. I pushed her too hard, and only ended up pushing her away. And now Rufus … I think that was the last straw. She won't listen. I should never have…"

Silvesta stared, putting the pieces together. "What happened to Rufus – you didn't…?"

"Kill him? No." Valion shook his head. "Is that what they're saying?" Silvesta didn't answer, but she didn't need to. There had been whispers. Rumors. There was a reason Valion had been sitting alone when she'd arrived. "No, but I might as well have tied the rope myself. I told Audric that we had to do something. Told myself that he would just have a talk with Rufus, like he always does, and this would all go away." He sighed deeply. "I should have known better. I should have known what would happen."

"You don't think Audric killed him." Did he? Did he really believe his mentor – a fellow Victor – was capable of that?

"I don't know," Valion admitted. "I just know that, less than a day after we had that discussion, Rufus was dead. Whether he killed Rufus himself or turned him in to the Capitol or whether they just overheard us and decided to act themselves … maybe it doesn't matter. We killed him, simple as that. And we have to live with that."

"Maybe." Silvesta reached across the table, laying her hand on Valion's. "But you don't have to live with it alone."

Valion shook his head. "Shyanne left me. After what happened, I don't think anyone else will have me as an ally."

"I will." The words came out before she really had a chance to think it through. "I'll have you."

"Why?"

It took her a moment to piece together a good answer. Because there wasn't a good reason – not really. If he was this worked up about playing even a small part in Rufus' death, how was he going to respond in an arena where he had to actually _kill_ people? Was that really the sort of ally she wanted?

Maybe … maybe he was. Because she wanted someone she could trust. Someone who wouldn't turn on her the moment it was convenient. Someone she wouldn't mind fighting for – maybe even dying for.

And what Valion had done – whatever he had said to Audric about Rufus – he had done to try to keep Shyanne safe, to keep her out of their alliance. He had failed, but that sort of loyalty to his younger district partner … it was admirable. Silvesta smiled a little as she finally answered. "Why not?"

"That's not an answer."

"Maybe. Or maybe it's just not the answer you were expecting." She smiled a little. "So what do you say?"

Valion hesitated. But Silvesta already knew what the answer would be. What almost anyone's answer would be. Given the choice between going into the Games with no allies and going in with an ally they could trust, almost everyone would pick the second option.

And he had no reason not to trust her. As far as anyone else knew, she'd volunteered to save an old woman's life, to keep her beloved mentor from going into the Games. And the truth … well, the truth was close enough to that.

 _Why not?_ It came back to that, in the end. She'd had no reason not to volunteer. No reason to consider her own life any more valuable than Moira's. No reason to try to save herself when she could save someone else, instead. Maybe exactly _who_ that someone was didn't really matter, in the end. And if that someone could be Valion – a man with a wife, children, grandchildren – then maybe that was a good thing. As long as he agreed…

At last, Valion nodded, smiling a little. "Why not?"

* * *

 **Aelin Kuang, 60  
** **District One**

"Why don't we try something new?"

Aelin glanced up at Hatchet. "Something new? You're just getting good at this." They'd been practicing at the spear station for most of the morning, and Hatchet was just starting to get the hang of it. Why would she want to try something else?

Hatchet chuckled a little. "Honey, it's going to take more than a few days before I'm actually comfortable with one of these things – and we don't exactly have that kind of time. But you – you already know exactly what you're doing here. So why don't we go find something else? Somewhere you'll learn something new?"

Aelin gripped her spear a little tighter. Hatchet was starting to sound like Hadrian. She didn't _need_ to learn something new. She needed to make sure her old skills were still sharp. And she still wasn't happy with how she'd done in a fight against one of the trainers. It had never been this hard before.

Before. Back when she was young and strong. Her body simply couldn't handle the sort of moves that had once come so easily to her. Aelin glanced around the room. The rest of the older tributes seemed to be taking it easy. Aras and Galen had finally abandoned their makeshift kitchen and were over at the insect identification station with Jani – maybe trying to figure out whether any of those were worth eating. Hadrian was chatting with Clark at the knot-tying station. Valion and Silvesta were still finishing their lunch, as was Evo – along with his two younger allies. And Maximus…

Maximus, now that she looked around, was actually at the weapons stations, practicing with a mace nearby. Aelin smiled a little. "Something new, you said?" she grinned, and headed over to where Maximus was destroying a few dummies. Hatchet chuckled a little and headed in the opposite direction. Aelin shrugged. If she'd rather focus on sorting bugs and plants, that was her choice.

Aelin quickly chose a mace and swung it as hard as she could against one of the dummies. Part of the dummy's arm broke off and fell to the ground with a very satisfying thump. Maximus smiled. "Not bad."

"Not bad yourself," Aelin agreed, nodding to the pile of dummy parts that lay at his feet. She hadn't remembered him being so fierce during his own Games. Then again, she'd never paid much attention to the outer-district Victors and how they won. As far as she could tell, it was almost always the result of some mistake on the Careers' part.

Because, mathematically, the Careers had the advantage. The advantage of years of training. The Games were, in the end, theirs to lose – not the other districts' to win. When an outer-district tribute won, it was because the Careers broke up too early. Because of inner tension. Because they underestimated a sneaky tribute or because of some bad judgment on the part of the Careers' leader.

So try as she might to remember Maximus' Games, nothing was standing out, despite the fact that his victory had come only a few years after her own. There had been nothing special about him then. But now … now he was one of the few tributes near her own age who seemed to understand that they had to be ready to _fight_ – not just to scavenge for food.

Because they couldn't rely on their younger allies forever. They couldn't depend on Clark to do all the fighting for their pack. She had to be ready to pull her own weight. Aelin swung at the dummy again. And again. It felt good to tear apart something that didn't fight back. It almost made her feel strong again.

"Feels good, doesn't it," Maximus observed, taking a swing. "It's strange – how something so deadly can make you feel so … well, so _alive_."

Aelin nodded. That was it. And that was most of the appeal of the Games, in the end. They were dangerous, deadly, frightening – but she had never felt so alive as she had in the arena, knowing that her survival depended on every choice she made, on every swing of a blade, on every step she took. Knowing that millions of people were watching those choices. Waiting with bated breath to see if she was really up to the task.

And she was. She had been then, and she would be now. She had to be. Her life depended on it. And, as frightening as that was, she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Would you like to join us?" The words left her mouth almost before she realized she was saying them. She and Hadrian had discussed who else they might want to recruit, the night after the chariot rides. The idea hadn't come up since then, and Maximus hadn't been one of the options they had considered, but…

But it felt so _right._ He was exactly the sort of ally she wanted. Exactly the sort of ally her eighteen year old self would have accepted into the pack without question. Surely Hadrian wouldn't have a problem with Maximus. And if he did … well, he would quickly be outvoted by the rest of their "pack," who would be eager for another capable ally. Aelin turned to Maximus, waiting for an answer.

But she already knew what it would be.

* * *

" _Answers are easy. It's asking the right questions which is hard."_


	22. Training: Beliefs

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the bloodbath poll if you haven't already. A new poll will be up with the next chapter.

* * *

 **Training Day Three  
** **Beliefs**

* * *

 **Hatchet Ford, 77  
** **District Seven**

"You should have asked us first."

Hatchet rolled her eyes as Hadrian continued to lecture Aelin, who was barely listening. "We're a group; that means we need to make decisions together. You can't just invite someone into the pack without consulting the rest of us."

Aelin smirked. "Why not? What are you going to do? Kick me out?"

She had a point. There were only four of them in the first place. If they lost Aelin, they would be down to three – and only one of them a proper Career. But if Hadrian agreed to let Maximus into the pack, he was essentially telling her that the last five minutes of rambling about making decisions together didn't actually matter one bit.

Hatchet and Clark glanced at each other. She already knew what he would say; the important thing was that they work together, not how many of them there were. But voicing that thought … was that the best thing to do? Was this the best time to do it?

After all, if they lost Aelin, they were running out of time to find other allies. And she and Maximus might even try to join Demetrius' pack, bringing their numbers up to five. As it stood now, they were the largest pack in the arena. Maximus would bring their own number to five. Maybe it was better to have him.

Maybe. The others didn't know Maximus the way she did. The older Career Victors didn't need to mentor as often. She wasn't sure when Hadrian had last mentored, but she knew it had been a while for Aelin. And, even when they did, Career Victors kept mostly to their own group, trying to help the other members of the pack. And Clark was too young to be familiar with most of the other Victors, especially since Maximus had stopped mentoring. If they knew…

But still she held her tongue. Because what she knew … well, it wasn't exactly a reason to exclude him from the pack. He could be rude. Stubborn. And he had a reputation for being a bit … rough … with women. But did any of that really matter in the arena? As long as they didn't get too close…

And she had no intention of getting that close – to any of them. She was already close to Clark, of course, but the others – they were allies, not friends. Her own Games had been so long ago, but her instincts were starting to kick back in. Allies – even allies who were committed to working together as a team, who could cooperate and support each other – couldn't be trusted forever. If her own allies had realized that, she wouldn't be here.

She couldn't afford to make the same mistake.

At last, Hadrian sighed and nodded a little. "Let's put it to a vote. All in favor of letting Maximus join the pack?"

Aelin raised her hand. So did Clark – a little quicker than Hatchet had expected. Hatchet nodded and raised her hand, as well. "All right, then," Hadrian nodded. "I guess we're all agreed, after all." He smiled over at Aelin. "See? All you had to do was ask."

That wasn't true, of course. If she had brought the matter to the group the day before, the discussion might have gone a bit differently. Without the threat that they might lose Aelin if they said no, they might have been a bit slower to agree. The decision might eventually have gone the same way, of course, but they would have taken longer to get there.

So maybe it was good, in the end, that Aelin had taken a shortcut. Hatchet smiled a little as Aelin hurried over to Maximus to relay the verdict, just like a little schoolgirl inviting a new friend to come play. Maximus smiled back and followed her to where the rest of the group stood around the knife station. Hadrian held out his hand. "Welcome to the pack."

Maximus nodded and shook his hand, then Clark's, then Hatchet's and Aelin's. "So what's the plan?"

The plan. They hadn't really discussed the 'plan' much. They had spent the first day moving from station to station, learning a bit of this and a bit of that. The next day, news of Rufus' death had put a damper on any sort of conversation, and most of them had focused on one station or another, content to remain there for a while. But now…

Now they wouldn't be able to put off the discussion much longer. They would have to agree on a plan of action, and they would have to do it soon. And they might as well begin now, while the training center was still mostly empty. That way, they could talk openly. Hatchet turned to Hadrian and Aelin, clearly the most experienced as far as how to coordinate a larger alliance. "Yeah, what he said," she nodded.

"What's the plan?"

* * *

 **Maximus Kellen, 52  
** **District Eight**

They didn't have a plan.

Maximus kept his mouth shut as the other members of the pack glanced back and forth, waiting for someone to speak first. He had assumed they already had some sort of plan. Not necessarily a _detailed_ plan, given the fact that none of them knew what the arena would be like. Planning _too_ far ahead, or sticking to that plan too strictly, could be detrimental. But he had always assumed that the Careers went into the Games with _some_ sort of plan.

It was Hadrian who finally spoke. "Assuming there's a cornucopia, that would be a logical place to start. Secure that, target some of the stronger alliances during the bloodbath. Hunt down the rest."

He said it so easily. But it would have been hard to miss he hesitation in his voice that came with the words 'stronger alliances.' And maybe that made sense. After all, the strongest alliances – aside from their own – included some tributes that Hadrian and Aelin would ordinarily have considered allies. Demetrius, for starters, was certainly one of the stronger contenders, and his two allies weren't to be taken lightly, either. Galen could pretend to be a harmless old clown all he wanted, but they all knew what he was really capable of. And Freya and Cedra … maybe they didn't seem so threatening, but it could be an act.

"Stronger alliances," Hatchet jumped in, forcing the issue. "I think we should agree on who that is."

Hadrian hesitated, but Aelin didn't. "I think we have options. Demetrius and his pack – they're probably the most dangerous. Maybe Freya and Cedra, as well."

Maximus nodded. At least they were on the same page. Hadrian – and maybe Hatchet and Clark as well – was still thinking of the others as friends. Fellow Victors. Aelin saw them for what they really were: competition.

Just then, Clark raised his hand. "I think there's another direction we could go."

Aelin laughed a little. "You don't need to raise your hand, kid. What's your idea?"

Clark lowered his hand. "It's no secret Evo's been planning something. Organizing something. Obviously, they don't really have any chance of success, but if we go after _them_ first—"

"—the audience might like that," Aelin finished.

"Or the Gamemakers might," Clark agreed. "One way or the other, they'll make sure any sort of rebellion is taken care of. But if we do it _for_ them … well, maybe it's better for everyone."

Everyone. Was he worried about impressing the audience? Or was he simply being kind? Maybe he realized that a quick death at their hands was kinder than anything the Gamemakers would have planned for Evo, Felix, and Shyanne. Or maybe he had sensed Hadrian's hesitation to go after his old friends and was offering what he hoped was a compromise. A way to ease themselves back into the idea of killing. If they could go after an alliance the Gamemakers were going to target anyway, maybe it _was_ better – for all of them.

Maximus nodded. "I agree with Clark." He turned to the others. "What do you think?"

Hatchet hesitated a moment, but then nodded. "I agree. Evo's more dangerous than he looks – and determined once he puts his mind to something. And if it's clear we're the group to beat, he'll almost certainly find some way to target us. We'll need to deal with him sooner or later, so it might as well be sooner."

Hadrian nodded. "We should still watch out for the others during the bloodbath, of course – especially Demetrius and his group. But if they don't seem intent on seeking out a fight, I agree with making the others our priority."

Aelin glanced around, hesitant. Maybe she was reluctant to go after a group of rebels right after they'd lost Rufus. Maybe she was worried that they wouldn't present much of a challenge during the bloodbath, and that maybe they should focus on their physically stronger opponents. But, whatever the reason, she also realized she was outnumbered. And she couldn't afford to oppose the pack again.

She'd gone out on a limb, after all, bringing him in – more than he'd realized at the time. He had assumed, when she'd come over to train with him, that she was there with her group's approval. It had only been after he'd accepted her offer of an alliance that she'd admitted she hadn't actually asked the pack.

So, this time, she yielded to their judgment. "Agreed." She glanced around at the rest of the group.

"It sounds like we have a plan."

* * *

 **Clark Tierney, 23  
** **District Seven**

At least they had a plan.

Clark shook his head as the group split up again, heading for different stations as the other tributes began to arrive. Maximus followed him to the dagger station. "Not a bad idea back there, Clark."

Clark didn't say anything. What was he supposed to say? Part of him felt terrible even suggesting that they go after Evo, Shyanne, and Felix – especially after what had happened to Rufus. They didn't deserve to be targeted – not really. They hadn't done anything yet. And they might not even be planning anything now – especially now that Rufus was gone.

And Felix and Shyanne – he could understand how they felt. The need to do something productive, to feel like they were making a difference. He'd managed to channel that need into productive activities in his district. Shyanne had done the same after her victory, focusing on making a positive difference.

But now they were trapped. Trapped in a situation they had no power to change. Helpless. Rufus had offered them a solution to that helplessness. Clark turned a dagger over in his hands. If he hadn't already had an alliance, if Evo had approached him, would he have done the same?

Maybe. Maybe not. There was no way to know. And that was the trouble – not knowing how easily he could have been a part of their group. How easily he could have been the one being targeted. If Aelin and Hadrian had gone to District Five for an alliance, instead, and Evo had approached him, their positions could easily have been reversed.

But they weren't. And he hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said that targeting them would be best for everyone. Whatever the Capitol had planned for potential rebels, it couldn't be good. And if he and his allies managed to take them out before they actually did anything obviously rebellious, then maybe the Capitol would simply write them off. Maybe they wouldn't target their families, their friends.

Clark shook his head. He was doing it again – trying to justify something they all knew was unjustifiable. No matter what excuses he made, no matter what the alternatives were, the truth was that he had suggested killing – murdering – three of their fellow Victors. He had been the one to point them out as good targets.

And he would have to live with that.

But he could. They all could. Each and every one of them was living proof that it was possible to live with that. For a while, he might question his decision. Wonder if he should have done things differently. But if it resulted in him leaving the arena alive, then it was the right choice to make. If it didn't, it was the wrong one. It was that simple.

Clark nodded to the trainer, who quickly attacked with her own weapon. Maximus swiftly joined in, and, together, the pair of them managed to drive the trainer backwards. Farther. Farther.

Just as they were about to back her up against the wall, however, the trainer quickly ducked beneath both of their blows, sending Clark and Maximus careening towards each other, instead. Both of them managed to drop their weapons before they collided, but they crashed into each other, just the same, tumbling to the floor in a heap.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't—" Clark started to apologize before realizing that Maximus was laughing. Clark stared for a moment before a chuckle found its way from his mouth, as well. "Maybe we should find something else," he suggested. "So we don't kill each other before we get to the arena."

Maximus shrugged. "How do you know I _wasn't_ trying to kill you – make it look like an accident?"

Clark shook his head. "All you had to do was hold onto your dagger. You didn't. Makes it pretty clear, I would think."

Maximus smiled as he got to his feet and held out a hand to Clark. "I like you, kid."

Clark smiled a little as Maximus helped him up. He couldn't shake the feeling that it had been some sort of test. That maybe Maximus had been trying to intimidate him.

But did the fact that he'd laughed it off mean that he'd passed? Or that he'd failed?

Maybe it didn't matter. It wasn't Maximus that he needed to impress, anyway. It wasn't Maximus whose approval he needed. If anything, Maximus needed _his_ approval – and everyone else's – in order to remain part of the pack. If anything, Maximus was now the odd man out.

And maybe he should be thanking him for that, Clark realized. Because otherwise _he_ was the odd man out in an alliance of older, more experienced Victors. Maybe, in a way, he still was. But did his youth make him an asset or a liability?

Both, he decided as the pair of them resorted to chopping up one of the dummies. He was the most inexperienced by far, but also the most physically capable. The one whose Games were the most recent. Maybe even the one the audience would remember.

And that was definitely an advantage.

* * *

 **Irina Cavell, 32  
** **District Ten**

The three of them definitely had an advantage.

Irina smiled as she watched the larger Career alliance split up and head for different stations. Maybe she, Gareth, and Demetrius were a smaller group. And maybe that had seemed like a disadvantage at first. But, now that she thought about it, maybe it gave them an edge.

What did the other group have, after all? A woman in her sixties and another in her seventies. Two men in their late forties and fifties. And a boy fresh out of his Games. She, Gareth, and Demetrius were a smaller alliance, but they also had more in common. Their abilities, their strengths, were similar. They wouldn't have to worry about whether any of them could keep up, whether any of them were pulling their weight.

Because, in order to survive, all three of them would have to pull their weight. And while that would put more pressure on each of them individually, it also meant that they couldn't afford to lose anyone. In a normal Career pack, there was usually one tribute – sometimes two – who was considered expendable. The weakest link. But they were too small for that. None of them were expendable.

They couldn't afford to have any weak links.

And maybe that was a good thing. Because if the three of them _had_ succeeded in finding other allies – if Jani and Ira had accepted their offer, or if Freya and Cedra had come and asked to be part of the pack – then it might be her or Gareth who found themselves in the weakest position.

As it was, the three of them made a good team. They'd spent the last few days at various weapons stations, brushing up on their skills, relearning how to fight as a group. That was a relatively new concept, but a welcome challenge. During her own Games, she'd spent most of her training days trying to prove that she was worthy of being included in the Career pack. That she could pull her own weight. This time, they could focus on working together.

And when it came to fighting together, Demetrius was a natural. At one point, the three of them had managed to fight off four trainers – mostly because Demetrius was used to watching his back. Years of training at the Career Academy had apparently paid off, and he hadn't lost his edge in the past twenty years.

Gareth, on the other hand, was having a little more difficulty. He had spent the latter half of his Games – and done the bulk of his fighting – alone, and it was beginning to show. He wasn't used to having to watch anyone else's back. He wasn't used to having to keep an eye on where his allies were in a fight. But he was learning. And that was all they could ask for.

They would just have to hope that, once they were in the arena, the lessons stuck with him.

Because once the Games began, there wouldn't be any time for second-guessing. And, really, it was already too late. Too late to question whether he really belonged in the group in the first place. They couldn't afford to lose him – not yet.

Not yet.

 _Stop it._ It was too soon – much too soon – to start thinking like that. To start wondering about what would happen when they inevitably had to turn on each other. Because even the strongest packs, even the most closely-knit packs, didn't last forever. Eventually, every ally was an opponent. Even district partners. Eventually, Gareth would have to die.

But not yet. Right now, she needed him, just like she needed Demetrius. And just like the two of them needed her. Because everyone would be targeting them – from the other Career pack to some outer-district groups who might think a semi-Career pack of three would make a better target than the larger one.

Irina smiled a little as the three of them turned their attention back to the trainers they were fighting. Her knives, Gareth's cleaver, Demetrius' hammer – for a few moments, they all moved as one. Working together. Fighting together.

It felt good. Better than she had thought. Certainly better than the Career pack during her first Games. They had accepted her – reluctantly – but she had always felt like an outsider. But these two … the three of them made a good team. It was a nice change. A welcome change.

But there was a part of her – a part that was growing with each stroke – that knew she shouldn't get too close. Couldn't afford to trust too much. Because these two – they wanted to make it home as desperately as she did. They had families, loved ones, as close as her own. They would turn on her, when the time came. They would fight. They would kill. They would have to. All of them would.

And she would have to be ready.

* * *

 **Gareth Arch, 37  
** **District Ten**

They would have to be ready.

Gareth glanced around at the other groups of tributes as the bell rang for lunch. Most of the other Victors had found an alliance – which meant they were running out of options if they wanted to increase their numbers.

Strangely enough, neither Demetrius nor Irina seemed interested in that. Ever since Ira and Jani had turned them down, the other two seemed content to go into the arena with their alliance of three. And he might have agreed with them, if Maximus hadn't joined up with the other Careers, who now outnumbered them five to three. Even though most of the members of the other pack were older, those still weren't good odds.

But Demetrius and Irina seemed unconcerned, settling down to lunch without even glancing at any of the other groups. Maybe they simply realized it was too late – too late to think about adding anyone else to their group.

After all, who was left? Hadrian, Aelin, Hatchet, Clark, and Maximus were already a pack. Cedra and Freya hadn't shown any interest in joining either of the Career packs. Neither had Aras and Galen, despite Hadrian and Aelin's apparent offer after the train rides. And now that Jani had joined them, the chances that they might accept another offer were slim, considering how adamant Jani had been about an alliance when they'd asked him and Ira.

Then there was Ira, who had apparently decided that Camryn made a better ally than Jani. An interesting choice, especially given what Evo and Camryn had pulled during the chariot rides. Certainly not a pair of allies they would want to invite into their pack.

Which also ruled out Evo, Shyanne, and Felix – and probably Silvesta and Valion, who would be hesitant to go after their younger district partners. So who did that leave? Wisteria and Euclid, but neither of them had made an effort to pursue any sort of alliance whatsoever. Cadaya. Ebony. And that was it. Those were the other options.

So maybe the fact that they hadn't gone after any more allies was a good thing. Ebony might be a target because of her parents' history; Camryn had been trying to recruit her the first day, after all. And Cadaya had been moving from one survival station to another, apparently not too concerned about weapons. About fighting.

And fighting was what the Games were about, in the end. He'd learned that the hard way. During his first Games, he and his only ally Lionus had tried to avoid fighting – and, for a little while, they had succeeded. But only for a little while. When they had finally been forced into a fight, Gareth had proven up to the challenge. Lionus hadn't. It was as simple as that.

And, as much as he might feel more comfortable with one or two more allies in their pack, there was no point in having allies who wouldn't be able to pull their weight. No use having allies who would be dead right after the bloodbath, anyway.

Gareth shook his head, glancing around at the other tributes. The bloodbath. He hadn't thought much about that. About what their alliance might do – might be forced to do – during the bloodbath. During his own Games, he had fled the bloodbath along with his only ally, and they had both survived.

He had a feeling it wouldn't be quite so simple this time.

What they did, of course, would probably depend a great deal on what the other Career alliance decided to do. If Hadrian and Aelin's alliance – all five of them – decided to claim the cornucopia as their own, would he, Irina, and Demetrius have the strength to rival them? Did they really want to try?

A showdown between the two groups during the bloodbath, after all, had both its advantages and disadvantages. On the one hand, if they could eliminate the other group completely – or even kill two or three of them – that was one strong alliance they wouldn't have to worry about. On the other hand, if they lost any of their own members _that_ early on, that would make survival all the more difficult.

Demetrius hadn't made it clear exactly what he was planning to do, but Gareth knew how he would vote, if it came to that. As far as he was concerned, the other Careers could have the cornucopia. Even if the three of them managed to secure it, they could never hold it with a group of three. And trying to hold the cornucopia _and_ search for tributes never worked well for a smaller Career pack.

But Demetrius knew that already. He was certainly more familiar with Career tactics than either Gareth or Irina. He knew what he was doing – or, at least, Gareth hoped he did.

But, eventually, he would have to tell the others.

* * *

 **Cadaya Kallier, 43  
** **District Eight**

Eventually, she would have to make a choice.

Cadaya picked at her food as she sat at a table in the corner. For two and a half days now, she had been watching the other tributes. Watching the alliances form, just like a normal year. They would assess each other. Target each other. Kill each other.

Part of her had hoped that things would go differently this year, since they were all Victors. They all knew each other. They all had so much in common. She had hoped that maybe – just maybe – they would be a bit more hesitant to kill each other than complete strangers would be.

She knew she was. And maybe that was part of the reason she hadn't sought out an alliance yet. As soon as she decided who her allies were, then that determined who her enemies were. Which of her friends she would have to fight. Which ones she would have to fear.

But she was running out of time to make her choice, and if there was one thing she _did_ know, it was that she didn't want to be alone in the arena. She'd had allies last time – right up until the very end. The Games had come down to her and one of her allies – Loris, the boy from District Six. She could still see his face as an arrow from her crossbow had buried itself in his chest. He would have done the same, she was certain, but that didn't make it any better.

Was that why they were avoiding her? She hadn't made any real attempts at finding allies, but no one had approached her, either. Did they remember what she had done to her allies? How she had let one be devoured by mutts and then killed the other? Cadaya swallowed hard. Maybe no one wanted her as an ally…

No. No, that was ridiculous. How many of them had done the same? How many more would have done the same in her place? She'd had no choice but to kill him; she'd come to terms with that years ago. The rest of the Victors – they understood that in a way no one else would. No one had ever blamed her for that before, and they wouldn't hold it against her now.

"Is anyone sitting here?"

Cadaya looked up, startled, as a soft voice shook her out of her thoughts. Ebony. "No," answered quickly. "There's no one with me."

Ebony slid into a seat across form here. "Me neither. I thought it would be easier finding allies this time. Last time, it was hard because I didn't know _anyone_. This time…"

"It's hard because you know _everyone_ ," Cadaya finished. "I know the feeling. I don't know how we're ever going to…" She trailed off, too afraid to finish. Even saying what she had been thinking could be considered rebellious. After what had happened to Rufus…

"They wanted me to join them," Ebony said softly, nodding towards Evo, Felix, and Shyanne. "They thought we had a chance of stopping the whole thing. But we don't … do we?"

Cadaya's gaze found Ebony's eyes, wide and questioning. Begging for one answer but already knowing it wasn't the truth. "No," Cadaya answered gently. "I think we're past that. This is happening, and we have to face that. But we don't have to do it alone."

Ebony's expression brightened a little. "Are you saying…?"

Cadaya nodded. "If you'll have me. I might not be much of a fighter, but—"

"That doesn't matter," Ebony cut her off. "I just don't want to—"

"To be alone."

"Yes."

Cadaya reached across the table, taking Ebony's hand in her own. She looked so young. How old was she now? Nineteen? Twenty? As old as Cadaya's own children. "You're not alone." Cadaya squeezed Ebony's hand gently. "You hear me? You're not alone. You're never going to be alone."

Empty words, maybe, and small comfort when it came to the Games. Eventually, everyone was alone. One Victor came out of the arena alive. And no matter how hard they tried to rebuild their life, to connect to others, to surround themselves with family and friends – no matter what they did, there was a part of them that was still alone. That would always be alone.

But Ebony already knew that. She had made it through the Games once. She knew that, in order to survive, she eventually had to be alone. And Cadaya knew the same.

But they also knew – they both knew – that knowing that and being able to live with it were two very different things.

* * *

 **Euclid Hoover, 32  
** **District Three**

Wanting allies and finding them were two very different things.

Euclid drummed his fingers on the table as the rest of the tributes headed back to their stations. There was a part of him that wanted to follow. To find one of the groups that might still take him and beg to be included. Cadaya and Ebony, maybe. Or maybe Valion and Silvesta. Or maybe Wisteria would take him…

No. No, Wisteria had shown no interest in allying with anyone – least of all him. And maybe that made sense. She had spent most of her Games alone the first time. Why should he expect her strategy to be any different now?

And, for that matter, why should he change his own? Having an ally had brought him nothing but pain the first time. He could still see her face as the girl from One had stabbed the life out of her. He could still hear her screams. He could still hear them all.

It was only once he'd spilled his drink that Euclid realized he'd been rocking back and forth so violently, he'd been shaking the table. "Are you all right?" The voice caught him off guard as he looked up, startled, into Galen's face.

"Fine," he blurted out before Galen could get another word out. "I'm fine. All fine." Before he could get any farther than that, he sprang up from the table and darted to the other side of the room. Back to the shelter-building station, where he'd spent most of the past few days.

 _Stupid. He wasn't trying to hurt you. He was being kind._ Euclid bit his lip as he fumbled with his supplies, trying to steady his hands. Galen hadn't been trying to hurt him – not this time. But once they were in the arena, he would have to watch his back. He would have to stay alert. He couldn't let anyone get close.

So maybe it was better not to have allies at all. How many times had he watched the Games and seen a tribute stab an ally in his sleep? How many had intentionally led their allies into a trap? How many had poisoned them? No. No, maybe it was better to avoid people altogether.

Because even those who didn't end up _killing_ their own allies still had to watch their allies die. He'd watched an ally die once – and he never wanted to again. He already saw too many faces, already heard too many screams. He didn't need any more friends to join the faces of the dead.

But they would, no matter what he did. They would die. All of them. All but one. If he wanted to come back home, everyone else had to die. Even Wisteria. Even Galen. All of them would have to die.

But he didn't have to watch. He didn't have to see them die. No, his best course of action was to stay away from them – far away. So far away that he wouldn't see the blood. He wouldn't hear the screams. He wouldn't see their faces.

Euclid took a few deep breaths, letting his mind wander as he set about finishing his shelter. It felt good to make something – even if it wouldn't last. He had always been better at making things than destroying them.

Then again, most people probably were. Most people didn't wake up and decide that they were going to destroy something, tear down what someone else had worked so hard to build. Most people didn't _decide_ to destroy, to kill, to harm those they loved. They were forced into it – forced to choose between what was right and what would help them survive.

And he was no exception. He had killed, just as willingly as the rest of them. When it had come down to it, he had been no better than any of the other tributes – and maybe he had been worse. He had been the one to survive, after all. Did that mean that he was the worst of the lot? The most desperate? The luckiest?

Whatever the reason – whatever had kept him alive twenty years ago during his own Games – he couldn't count on it happening again. Not unless he was just as alert, just as determined, just as willing to kill as he had been then.

Euclid clenched his fists tightly. This was different. Of the tributes he had killed – the boy from Eight, the pair from Twelve, the girl from One – he hadn't really known any of them. And, whether or not he knew them _well_ , he knew at least the name of everyone else in the room. He'd never had to kill anyone he _knew_.

And, in the end, he wasn't sure which he was more afraid of – the thought that maybe he wouldn't be able to, or the thought that he _would_. That he _could_. Given the chance, could he kill Wisteria? Could he even have killed Vida, if it had come down to the two of them?

He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

* * *

 **Wisteria Cassava, 34  
** **District Three**

She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Wisteria turned and headed for the door as the last bell rang, signaling the end of the training day. She was the first to leave, the first to reach the elevator, and she hurried inside before anyone else could reach her. Before anyone could find her.

Finally, everything was silent. The noise in the training center had practically been deafening. Even though that chatter had died down the previous day with the news of Rufus' death, it was still overwhelming. As quickly as she could, she retreated into her room and locked the door.

Training was over. And that meant the decision was made. Hypatia hadn't meant to nag, of course. She meant well. But the number of times she had asked whether Wisteria was _certain_ she didn't want allies was … a bit irritating, to say the least. How many times did she have to say no?

On the one hand, she understood why the idea of having allies might have its appeal. There were the practical aspects, of course. Even a group of two could have someone on guard at all time, watching for danger. It was easier to sleep. Easier to hunt for food. Easier to split up and cover more ground looking for food or a good place for shelter.

But for every benefit of having allies, there was an equal danger. Having someone available to stand guard also meant that there was a greater chance of being spotted, or of being heard. It was easier to sleep with allies, yes – until one of them decided that it was easier to stab someone in their sleep than it was to fight them. It was easier to split up to hunt or look for food – but also easy to get separated, which tended to result in tributes shouting for each other, trying to find their allies and attracting the attention of anyone within earshot.

And then, of course, there was the part that no one ever talked about. Mentors always told their tributes that it would be good to have allies, to have someone for companionship, to have a friend they could trust … until that friend had to die. Her only ally had been her district partner, Buck. He had helped her get through training. He had supported her. He had been her friend.

And then he was gone. Killed during the bloodbath by the girl from One. It had happened so quickly. She'd never had a chance to help him. But if she had…

If she'd had the chance, would she have taken it? Would she have tried to help him? Would she have fought for him, tried to save his life? Or would she simply have run? Would she have left him to die?

She wasn't sure she wanted the answer to that.

Wisteria shook her head. What was the point in having allies if they would leave each other at the first sign of trouble, anyway? What was the point in befriending someone if she was only going to end up abandoning them in favor of her own survival? Why should she put herself through the pain of watching an ally die again, for … what? The chance that maybe – just _maybe_ – they might prove to be useful before their deaths?

"Wisteria?" Hypatia's voice, just outside the door. Wisteria leaned back on her bed. She didn't want to talk to her mentor. She didn't want to talk to anyone. She didn't want any of this to be happening.

She couldn't stop it, of course. Her silence wouldn't stop the Games – no more than Rufus' ill-fated attempt at a rebellion. There was nothing she could do to stop what was going to happen. The only thing she could do was withhold her approval. She could refuse to play the game they wanted her to play.

Not that she wouldn't kill. The thought had crossed her mind, but, as much as she hated the thought of killing again for their pleasure, the simple fact was that she hated the thought of dying even more. She would kill, when she had to. But she didn't have to play their way. She didn't have to team up with other Victors to go out and slaughter their lifelong friends. She would kill when the fight came to her, but not before.

And it would be easier to avoid that fight if she was on her own. She wouldn't be able to avoid it forever, of course, but if she could postpone it even a little while – well, maybe that was a small victory in itself. Last time, she had managed to avoid killing until the very last day. The very last fight.

She had no delusions, of course, that she would be able to do the same this time. She had gotten lucky before; she couldn't count on that again. She couldn't count on anything being the same.

Nothing except herself.

* * *

" _Just go forward in all your beliefs and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine."_


	23. Private Sessions: First

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Results of the bloodbath poll are up on the website. There's a new poll on my profile, this time asking which tribute(s) you would sponsor. This one will actually have some effect on the Games, because the top three tributes will receive a sponsor gift of some sort at some point during the Games, as long as they survive the bloodbath. (If they don't, that gift will be given to one of their allies, or, failing that, their district partner.) Choose as many or as few tributes as you like, and feel free to use whatever criteria _you_ would use to determine who you would sponsor. Feel free to choose your own tribute, but please don't _only_ vote for your own tribute. If, by this point, your own tribute is the only one you like enough to sponsor, I'm doing something wrong.

* * *

 **Private Sessions  
** **First**

* * *

 **Amber Lionetti  
** **Head Gamemaker**

They were counting on her to be impartial.

Amber drummed her fingers on the table as she and the other Gamemakers set up for the tributes' private sessions. Everything was almost ready, but she couldn't help feeling that something was off. That there was still some sort of bias, some hint of partiality.

And that was something she wouldn't allow. In the Games, yes. She had to be partial – partial to what the president wanted, to what the audience needed to see. Once the tributes were in the arena, she needed to be able to shape and mold the Games in a way that suited the Capitol. Everyone understood that. Or, at least, everyone who mattered.

But these private sessions – they were different. Most of the Gamemakers before her hadn't seemed to care much about what happened in the private sessions. They all knew how it would go. The Careers would score high. One or two of the older, stronger outer-district tributes might garner a high score, either making their mark or making themselves a target. The rest would score somewhere in the middle, and the youngest or weakest would score low. That was just the way things were.

Or, at least, they had been.

She had deviated from that script her second year as Head Gamemaker, giving two of the Careers surprisingly low scores. And why? Because they had gone into their private sessions _knowing_ that they were going to score well. Counting on it. So assured, so confident, that they hadn't even bothered to give it their best effort.

Maybe they had told themselves they were saving their best effort for the Games. But their plan had backfired. Their low scores – well-deserved low scores – had doomed the Career pack to internal tension and, eventually, the pack had crumbled in on itself without any help from the outside, allowing a twelve-year-old girl from District Five to claim the crown without ever coming face-to-face with the full force of a Career pack in the arena.

The Careers had learned that year – or, at least, their mentors had – and, since then, they had done better. Careers had come into their private sessions determined to prove themselves – for the most part, anyway. No one got a high score without earning it.

And, just the same, no one got a truly dismal score without doing something particularly unsatisfying. Twelve-year-olds were no longer relegated to scoring twos and threes. Eighteen-year-olds were no longer guaranteed to score higher than their younger but vastly more capable district partners. It was the tributes' skills and efforts that were rewarded, not the misguided preconceptions of the audience.

Preconceptions. Amber shook her head as the other Gamemakers took their seats. How many preconceptions did they have about the Victors – the tributes – they were about to see? Some of them had been around long enough to see a few of the older Victors' Games, but most were relatively new. Gamemaking did tend to have a rather high turnover rate. It wasn't as precarious an occupation as it used to be, but it _was_ a rather demanding job, nonetheless.

But even those who hadn't participated in the tributes' Games would remember watching them. They would remember the younger ones more clearly. Maybe even favor them. The final decision on training scores was, of course, up to her, but even she had to admit she had her own biases. Her own ideas of who would score high – because they had scored high the first time. And her own ideas of who would score low, because how could someone so old or so damaged from their first Games possibly hope to compete with the more recent, more able Victors?

She had to do something. Something to counteract that. Amber glanced at her notes on the table, all laid out in order. In district order. Finally, she smiled a little, shuffling her papers around a little, rearranging them to suit her needs. Just as her assistant Gamemaker, Rene raised his microphone to call the first tribute in, Amber shook her head. "Wait."

Then she explained her plan.

* * *

Hatchet seemed a bit perplexed by being called first, but Amber gave her a nod as she entered the room, reassuring the older Victor that she had, in fact, heard correctly. Hatchet shrugged calmly, gave a little chuckle, and headed for the snare-making materials.

As she went to work, Amber watched carefully. Her hands were perhaps not quite as nimble as they had once been, her fingers not quite as quick, but her age hadn't dulled her mind. Hatchet's focus never wavered as she tied knot after knot, each one as stable as the last, rigging up several traps next to the makeshift trees in the room.

One was a simple rope, meant to catch a tribute's ankle and leave them dangling. A second was a net that would drop to the ground, weighted on the ends to ensnare the tribute. The third and last released a simple barbed length of chain from a rope – the edges of the barbs coated in poison.

Once her fifteen minutes were done, Hatchet rose carefully from where she had been tying the last of the ropes, then hurled a rock at each of the traps, triggering them. The first rope snapped tight around the rock, the net from the second covered it, and the barbed chain hit the rock full-force as Hatchet turned to leave.

* * *

Galen was grinning playfully as he entered the room. "Miss Lionetti, at last. I regret I've never had the pleasure of your company before. This meeting might be a bit overdue, but I hope it's worth it." He winked, and one or two of the younger Gamemakers burst out giggling. But a glare from Amber quickly set them straight.

Still smiling, completely oblivious to the Gamemakers' amusement – or maybe even enjoying it himself – Galen made his way to the archery section and chose a bow. It was nearly as large as he was, which was saying something, but Amber waited patiently as he set an arrow to the string. _No preconceptions_.

Sure enough – and quite to the younger Gamemakers' surprise – the arrow quickly found its mark. Galen didn't waste any time. He fired three more arrows, then chose a different bow – this one smaller than the first. Four more arrows found the target, then four more from a smaller bow. Last of all, four shots from a crossbow met their mark.

Galen turned to the Gamemakers and winked before heading to the edible plants station, where he spent the remainder of his time sorting and eating berries. Amber couldn't help a smile. He'd spent most of his training time doing the same – maybe hoping the other Victors would forget how he'd won his own Games. But then why had he shown her his true skills now? Could he simply not resist one last chance to show off? Or did he have something else in mind?

* * *

Aras gave his ally a high five and a warm clap on the back as they passed each other in the doorway. Amber nodded, leaning back a little in her chair. Maybe he and Galen weren't the most intimidating pair, but, in their prime, the two of them would have been a force to be reckoned with. And even now…

The older Victor eyed his ally's arrows in the targets, smiling. Amber watched curiously as Aras chose a bow of his own. Usually, they cleaned up a bit between the tributes' sessions, but she had been curious about what Aras might do if he knew his ally had decided to show the same skill as he had.

Aras, however, seemed completely unfazed. He chose one of the larger bows – larger than the biggest one Galen had chosen – and quickly fit an arrow to the string. Even as the arrow was flying through the air, he prepared another. Then another. And another. He aimed first at one target, then another, stopping only to retrieve more arrows when his quiver was finally empty.

By the time he was finished, he was breathing hard and sweating, and the targets looked like an assortment of pincushions. Aras turned to the Gamemakers and bowed, his point made. What he may have lacked in accuracy – his shots were a bit more scattered than Galen's had been – he made up for in stamina. Which would be more useful in the Games, of course, remained to be seen.

* * *

Evo couldn't help chuckling a little as he entered. The workers had removed Galen and Aras' arrows from the targets, but the holes remained, leaving no doubt about what the two previous tributes had done. Evo shook his head. "I probably don't have _quite_ as impressive a show planned for you, but I hope you enjoy it."

Amber allowed herself a smile at that. She had never considered Evo much of a showman – certainly he wasn't as charismatic as some of the other Victors – but his little display during the chariot rides had proven a certain grasp of what the audience wanted to see. He knew enough to give them what they wanted – for a while.

How long that would last, she wasn't sure. But, for now, she was willing to indulge him. She watched intently as he grabbed a mace and proceeded to smash most of the dummies in the room, then finished the rest off with a knife. Finally, more than a little winded but still aware he had a few minutes left, he took his mace to what remained of the dummies, smashing them into a pulp.

He turned and left as soon as the bell rang, breathing hard, without so much as a glance up at her and the others. Amber nodded to the workers, who replaced both the dummies and the targets. The previous Gamemakers had considered Evo a nuisance. Maybe even a threat. But for now, she could ignore that. He had given a good show.

* * *

Aelin was smiling as she entered, but it was clear her smile was forced. She had been expecting to go first, to be the first tribute to leave an impression. Now … well, she certainly wasn't last, but she didn't have the spot of favor and prestige that she was accustomed to.

She did her best not to let it show, though, as she headed for the spear station. She chose a few of the smaller spears and heaved them in the direction of the targets. Only one scored a perfect bulls-eye, but the others, at least, hit the targets. Not bad, especially for someone her age.

Aelin, however, didn't seem content with that. She quickly scooped up a larger spear and began to attack the dummies one by one, dancing around them with surprising agility, slashing here and striking there, managing to score a killing blow on each one with relative ease. She slit their throats, slashed across their bellies, stabbed them in the back. Finally, she gave one of the dummies a last kick, knocking it over onto its back, and drove her spear deep into its chest.

Finally, she looked up to see Amber smiling, satisfied. Aelin grinned back and glanced at the clock just as the bell rang. She replaced the spear, gave a deep bow, and turned to go. Maybe she wasn't thrilled with her performance, but she had clearly given her best. And her best was certainly something to be proud of.

* * *

Maximus strode in as confidently as he could, keeping his eye on Amber as he made his way to the weapons rack. He quickly chose an axe and began hacking away at one of the dummies, swinging as hard as he could. Amber nodded a little. He certainly had energy, but how long would he be able to keep it up?

Sure enough, after a few minutes, he was breathing hard and beginning to slow. He did his best to hide it, catching his breath as he traded his axe for a dagger. Armed with the lighter weapon, he returned to slashing dummy after dummy, not particularly careful about where his blows fell, but quite thorough, nonetheless, leaving each dummy with at least a killing blow or two.

Finally, realizing he had only a few minutes left, Maximus switched weapons again, this time choosing a club. The weapon was heavier and clearly harder for him to wield, but also much more effective in smashing the dummies to pieces. Soon, a heap of dummy parts lay on the floor.

Maximus smiled as the bell finally rang, tossing his club back on the pile of weapons and heading for the door. Halfway there, he seemed to remember his manners, and turned and bowed before leaving. Amber smiled a little. Maybe he wasn't a complete gentleman, but at least he was making an effort. And that _was_ quite a pile of dummies.

* * *

Valion completely ignored the pile of weapons as he entered, instead heading for the computers at the plant and insect identification stations. But instead of sorting the available samples, he settled in at the control panel behind the computers, rewiring the computer. Reprogramming it, maybe. What was he doing?

The minutes ticked by, and still Valion sat there, completely engrossed in his work, his eyes never leaving the computers. Finally, Amber crept closer, curious. With a few minutes left on the clock, Valion closed up the panel, satisfied, and returned to the front of the computer. He nodded to Amber. "Give it a try."

Amber raised an eyebrow, surprised that he was addressing her. But maybe she had invited such a reaction by approaching him in the first place. Hesitantly, she headed for the controls and began sorting. But after she had finished sorting the available plant samples – most of which she was absolutely certain about – the computer began to flash red.

Grinning, Valion took her place and began his own session, quickly sorting strawberries into the pile of poisonous plants and something that Amber recognized as nightlock into the edible section. Once he was done, however, the computer flashed a green light above each of his samples, approving his choices. Amber nodded as she returned to her place beside the other Gamemakers. Not bad.

* * *

Hadrian didn't appear nearly as agitated as Aelin had at being given a later spot in the session order. He simply smiled as he headed for the archery section and chose one of the larger bows. Taking aim at first one dummy and then another, he landed a series of fatal hits on each of them from nearly the entire length of the room.

But he wasn't finished. Once each of the dummies had an arrow or two sticking out of them, he chose a pile of throwing knives and, one after another, flung them at the dummies. Amber watched, smiling, as each knife landed squarely next to one of the arrows he had fired. All came within inches of the first shot, and most were closer. A few knocked the arrows from their places as they landed, and one split the arrow cleanly in half.

Then, seeing he still had a few minutes left, Hadrian chose one of the swords and proceeded to decapitate each of the dummies in turn. Leaving each of the dummies thoroughly dead, he replaced both the sword and the bow, looked up at Amber and her fellow Gamemakers, bowed deeply, and headed for the door.

Amber watched carefully as he left. On the surface, he seemed the perfect Career. Strong, agile, versatile. But there had been something in his demeanor, something in his gaze as he had looked up at her, that had been off. Why had he volunteered? Had he simply wanted to save Jay's life, or had there been something more? Maybe she was simply being paranoid. But she would certainly be watching him.

* * *

Silvesta nodded as she entered, smiling a little. Maybe pleased to be going so soon in the morning, happy to have the rest of her day available when she would normally be resigned to sitting around, waiting for her turn for hours. As it was, she wasn't one of the first, but it was certainly better than District Twelve's usual final spots.

Silvesta glanced over at the weapons stations, quickly choosing a small carving knife from a small pile of weapons. But instead of attacking the dummies, she headed for the shelter-building area and sat down with a pile of supplies. Ropes, leaves, branches – nothing terribly threatening.

Quickly, she began work on a small shelter – large enough, perhaps, for one or two people. She'd clearly been practicing in the last few days; her own arena hadn't been particularly conducive to constructing shelters. The haunted house had included plenty of dark corners on its own, leaving the tributes free to focus on finding and killing each other, maybe even favoring tributes who wanted to hide.

And hiding certainly seemed to be the plan this time. Once the shelter was built, Silvesta quickly camouflaged it and took a step back, glancing at the clock. With about a minute left, she lit a fire and quickly burned her little hut to the ground – a fire that, if they'd let it burn out, would have left no trace that she had ever been there … nothing but a pile of ashes.

* * *

Freya glanced around the room as she entered, nodding a little now and then as if counting something. After a moment, Amber realized that she was counting dummies. Quickly, Freya dragged the dummies into smaller groups, addressing the Gamemakers as she did so. "The larger Career pack," Freya announced as she pulled five dummies together. "Probably going to try to secure and hold the cornucopia – Hadrian's rather traditional. But they'll find that hard if they happen to lose a member or two during the bloodbath." She kicked over two of the dummies, then moved on to the next group.

"Demetrius, Irina, and Gareth," she continued, motioning to a group of three. "They're a stronger group, physically, but they lack focus. Everyone knows they're a threat. Everyone will be targeting them. So they'll try to target everyone, becoming scattered and maybe even falling to disagreement about who's the greater threat." She kicked over another dummy.

Amber nodded as Freya continued, analyzing each group in turn, noting both stronger players and weaker ones, possible strategies and potential pitfalls. Finally, she came to a pair of tributes – the only remaining pair.

"Cedra and me," she confirmed, her voice finally trembling a bit. "She trusts me. Still thinks of me as a Career. She doesn't realize…" She swallowed hard, composing herself. "We're not a large group, but our strength isn't in our physical prowess – it's in our experience, and our lack of arrogance. We know better than to underestimate our opponents – any of them." She turned and left, leaving the final two dummies standing.

* * *

Cadaya took a deep breath as she entered, clearly a bit unnerved by the thought of being here again. Being a tribute again. But she quickly recovered, heading for the survival station. Almost immediately, she settled in and got a fire going, then set to work sorting the plants nearby.

After she'd sorted most of the available plants into two piles – edible and non-edible – she got to work setting a trap. She arranged several trip wires a safe distance from the fire, each attached to a nearby tree branch, ready to drop a pile of sharp rocks on any intruder.

Amber nodded a little, impressed. Cadaya's arena had been a nature reserve, perfect for traps of the sort, but she'd gone into her first Games unprepared. She'd learned how to set a few traps, but she'd survived her Games mostly by hiding, and being willing to take advantage of opportunities when they came. In fact, her only kill before the finale had been the boy from Twelve who had been harmlessly warming himself by a fire until Cadaya and her allies had found him.

This time, however, she wouldn't just be armed with a large rock. She was going into her Games with more knowledge of trees and berries than most tributes from District Eight. Maybe she hadn't spent the last three days studying weapons, but those days certainly hadn't been wasted. Soon, the bell rang, and Cadaya triggered her trap from a safe distance, sending rocks pelting down to the floor as she turned to go.

* * *

Gareth was smiling as he entered the room, quickly choosing a cleaver and attacking one of the dummies. Instead of simply leaving it after slicing it up, however, he knocked the dummy over. A second dummy was soon piled on top of it, and then a third. Before approaching the next one, however, he quickly circled the room, hurtling over the pile of three dummies before slicing the fourth dummy in half.

Breathing hard but grinning, Gareth continued the pattern. Dismember a dummy, add it to the pile, circle the room, and either hurtle or clamber over the dummies. Eventually, once the pile grew too large, he made a second one, and then a third, adding separate piles to his makeshift obstacle course.

Finally, the bell rang, and Gareth slowed to a halt, embedding his cleaver in the back of the final dummy. He smiled, glancing at the dummies piled up around him. He gave one of the dummies a final kick and headed for the door.

Amber smiled a little as the workers started to clean up the mess. It was original – she had to give him that. What he lacked in experience, he made up for with strength and stamina. Demetrius had probably made the right choice recruiting him and Irina. But the right choice for which of them?

* * *

Ira quickly made her way to the weapons table, clearly searching for something in particular. Amber nodded, pretty certain about what she was looking for. She had studied each of the tributes' previous games quite thoroughly and had made sure every possible weapon was included in their assortment.

Sure enough, Ira finally emerged from the pile with a razor-edged belt, the same sort of weapon she had used during her own Games. She'd managed to swipe it in a backpack from the bloodbath, not quite sure what to do with it at first. But the sixteen-year-old tribute had quickly discovered how deadly it was.

She was even more confident with it now. Maybe she hadn't been practicing with it for the past few days, but there were certain things that were hard to forget, and clearly this was one of them. She swung the belt with almost casual ease, slitting the throat of first one dummy, then another. She slashed their necks, their stomachs, severed their hands and feet.

Once she was satisfied with her work, she chose a simple knife and made her way from one dummy to another, quickly finishing off the ones that hadn't received fatal wounds from her belt. As she finished off the last dummy, the bell rang, signaling the end of her time. Ira quickly dropped the knife and the belt to the floor, gave a small curtsy, and headed for the door.

* * *

Euclid was fidgeting as he entered, wringing his hands together as he approached a selection of ropes and vines on one side of the room. Chattering a bit incoherently, he started tying knots in one of the longer ropes, then began looping it around a few of the posts and makeshift trees, clambering into the upper branches and out of sight, finally attaching one of the ends of the rope to the rafters high above them.

Amber watched, curiously, as he climbed down, as nimble as he had been during his own Games. Even she couldn't tell quite what the trap was supposed to do or how it was supposed to work, but Euclid seemed confident. He hurried to one side, grabbed a dummy, and heaved it in the direction of what appeared to be a trip wire for the trap.

Nothing happened. Panicked, Euclid hurried to retrieve the dummy, but, in his haste, accidentally tripped the wire himself. One of the ropes closed around his ankle, dragging him up into the tree. He screamed, and a few of the Gamemakers giggled. Amber glared at them. Maybe it had been part of his plan. Maybe he wanted to show them how easily he could escape from another tribute's trap.

As the minutes passed, however, it became clear that wasn't his intent. His screaming quickly turned to babbling – spouting off random facts and figures about wilderness survival as he hung there, upside-down, maybe hoping that would earn him a point or two for being able to think in a tough situation. Amber shook her head, disappointed, as one of her fellow Gamemakers finally cut him down just as the bell rang. How had he ever made it through his own Games?

* * *

Demetrius nodded towards the Gamemakers and even gave a little wave as he entered the room. He headed straight for the weapons station, choosing a large warhammer and immediately striking one of the larger dummies, sending it sailing across the room. Quickly, he swung at the next one, and the next.

Once he'd finished off five of the dummies, Demetrius sprinted around the room, swinging his hammer at various dummies as he passed. Some he struck hard enough to send them flying, while others simply toppled over. He struck some on the chest, some in the head, and a few in the legs, letting them crumple under their own weight.

All the while, he kept running, throwing in a tumble or a jump every now and then – mostly for show. But show was an important part of the Games – maybe every bit as important as being an effective killer. And Demetrius had demonstrated during his own Games that he was both a good showman and a capable killer.

Capable. He seemed more than capable now – maybe even more prepared than he had been for his own Games. Amber smiled as the bell rang and he finished off the last of the dummies, sending its head flying across the room with one swing of his hammer. Demetrius grinned, replaced the hammer, and wiped the sweat from his brow as he left. He'd almost made it look too easy.

* * *

Camryn didn't even glance up at Amber and her fellow Gamemakers as she entered the room. She headed straight for the weapons and quickly chose a small hatchet. Without hesitation, she flung it at the nearest dummy, striking it squarely in the chest. Scooping up another hatchet, and then another, she quickly landed blows on three different dummies.

After the third hit, she hurried to the first dummy, yanked the hatchet out of its chest, and flung it again – this time farther. She quickly did the same with the next weapon, and the next. Barely stopping to catch her breath, she moved from dummy to dummy, retrieving her weapons only to throw them again.

After a few more rounds, however, she began to tire, and her rhythm began to slow. Still, she kept going, most of her blows striking their desired targets. A few times, her weapons clattered to the floor, but she simply scooped them up again and kept moving. Kept striking until they found their mark.

Soon, the bell rang, and Camryn replaced all three of her hatchets in the pile. Still avoiding the Gamemakers' gaze, she turned and headed for the door, her hands clenched tightly at her side. She was holding back – not her skills, but her anger. At them. At _her_. Amber smiled a little. She wouldn't be able to keep that anger hidden forever. She could only hope that, when it did emerge, it would be a good show.

* * *

Wisteria barely looked up at Amber and her fellow Gamemakers as she entered the room. Frustration was clear on her face. Whether she was upset with the Games in general or simply irritated at the fact that she'd been forced to wait much longer than expected for her turn, Amber wasn't sure.

In any case, she headed straight for the survival station, gathered a knife and a few ropes, and set about making a trap. It wasn't nearly as elaborate as Euclid's, but it was certainly more functional – if a bit obvious. Three trip-wires circling an area large enough to sleep in were attached to a small catapult, set up to hurl poisoned darts in the direction of the intruder.

Amber nodded. Wisteria's trap was easy enough to set up. And, in the dark, there was a chance that an opponent might not see it. But it was a small chance. In the Games, everyone was cautious. It was caution, after all, that had protected Wisteria during her own Games, keeping her out of any particularly sticky situations until the finale.

And there was no hint that she would play things any differently this time. After watching the tributes during training, alliances were generally pretty clear, and it seemed that Wisteria would be on her own again, probably counting on the fact that it was easier for one tribute to avoid detection than it was for a group to try to go unnoticed. She still didn't understand. It was Amber's job to notice them. All of them.

* * *

Jani, on the other hand, was grinning as he entered the room, a nice contrast to Wisteria's stuffy silence. "Hello there!" he called as he quickly chose a few knives and began hurling them at the nearby dummies. Most missed, and, a few times, Amber was a bit worried that one of them might accidentally hit _her_ , but, finally, Jani managed to land a few hits.

Content that he'd given a reasonable demonstration of his skill level, Jani retrieved the knives from the dummies. As he pulled out the last knife, however, he pretended to panic. "Oh, no! The blood! It's all over! Have to stop the bleeding!"

Amber had to fight to keep herself from giggling as Jani ran frantically to the first aid station and began to stitch up the 'wound' in the dummy's side. As soon as he finished the last of his stitches, however, he smacked himself in the forehead. "Silly me! I'm not supposed to be saving them! Die, tributes! Die!" he screamed as he stabbed the dummy repeatedly in the chest.

Finally, as the bell rang, Jani rose to his feet. "Hope you enjoyed that!" he called with a grin as he turned to leave, tossing the knife in the direction of one more dummy. The knife clattered to the floor, but Jani simply shrugged as he headed for the door. "It only needs to work once."

* * *

Irina's knives hit more than once. In fact, she barely missed any of her targets as she flung knife after knife into dummies both nearby and across the room. Amber smiled. Irina clearly hadn't lost any of the skills she'd perfected during her first Games. In fact, if anything, she'd gotten better. Had she been practicing? Could it be that she actually enjoyed this?

That was a rare quality, after all, in outer-district Victors. All of them were killers, but there were few who truly understood the thrill of the Games, the excitement of the competition, the rush of the fight. Irina seemed to actually be enjoying the moment, and she hadn't shied away from killing without provocation, as some of the other Victors had.

It had never been clear, of course, how much of that had been an act. How much she had actually _wanted_ to fight and how much she had simply been trying to impress her Career allies, convince them she deserved a place in the pack. Maybe it didn't matter, but Amber had always been curious, nonetheless.

Once Irina was finished, she returned each of the knives to its proper place – except the last one. The last one, she flung at the door, the blade sinking deep into the wood just above the handle. Amber smiled a little as Irina left, striding through the door with all the confidence and control of a Career.

* * *

Felix noticed the knife in the door immediately as he entered, prying it from the wood and turning it over in his hands as he made his way towards the Gamemakers. For a moment, Amber was sure he was going to throw it, though she wasn't entirely sure _where_ – whether Felix would fling it at one of the dummies, or at her and her fellow Gamemakers.

He had more than enough reason, after all – maybe more than most. Felix's Games had been her first year as Head Gamemaker, and she had wanted to make a splash. When she'd recognized the budding romance between Felix and Ross, she'd decided to take advantage of that. She had reasoned that either the two boys would die side by side, defending each other, or one would survive and seek revenge.

She'd never really understood that – the need for revenge. Revenge against whom? It was clear from Felix's steely glare that what he really wanted was revenge against her. Against the people who had stolen Ross from him. But he had known, going into the Games, that only one of them could live. Every tribute knew that, and yet they always seemed surprised when it turned out that way.

Amber shook her head. _Stop getting philosophical._ But it was hard to do anything but think, because Felix wasn't _doing_ anything. He was simply standing there, glaring at them, turning the knife over in his hands again and again. Finally, once his time was up, he dropped the knife to the floor, turned, and headed for the door, raising his middle finger in their direction on the way out.

* * *

Shyanne, on the other hand, was smiling as she entered. "That was so sweet of you – giving the older Victors a chance to go first, rather than making them wait all day. I don't mind waiting. In fact, I wouldn't have minded waiting a bit longer – or a lot longer. A few days, a few years … a lifetime."

Shyanne cocked her head a little as she made her way towards the weapons and chose a large, spiked bat – much like the one sponsors had sent her during her own Games. "In fact," she continued as she swung at one of the dummies, "I was expecting to wait a bit longer. Thought you might be going in age order – oldest to youngest, you know."

Amber smiled a little. A few of her fellow Gamemakers had clearly thought the same, and had been a bit confused when she'd called Evo before Aelin, Maximus before Valion, and Euclid before several Victors older than him. "Did you figure it out?" Amber asked.

Shyanne giggled a little as she continued dismantling the dummies. "Of course. You're not going in _age_ order; you're going in _Games_ order. Trying to relive them in order, maybe. Not sure why. Most of us wouldn't want to go back and relive our Games. Maybe it's more fun when you're just watching." She shrugged, her smile standing in stark contrast with the pile of dummies she soon left on the floor. She was right; it _was_ fun to watch. A bit eerie, maybe, but fun.

* * *

Clark, for his part, seemed much more comfortable than he had been five years ago. Like Shyanne, he had been more than a little nervous the first time around, and had gone into the Games with little idea of what he was truly capable of.

This time, however, he started off with a bang. He raced forward as soon as he entered the door, grabbed one of the hatchets, and began swinging away at one of the dummies, ducking every so often as if dodging blows from an unseen opponent. Once the dummy was torn to shreds, he chose a larger, double-bladed axe and proceeded to rip apart several dummies with that.

After a few minutes of that, he chose a slightly smaller axe and went to work, every now and then picking up one of the smaller hatchets and flinging it at a different target as he continued to dismember the one in front of him. He moved quickly from one dummy to the next, retrieving his hatchets and hurling each one at the next target as he went along.

By the time his fifteen minutes were up, Clark was sweating and breathing hard, but there was a satisfied smile on his face. He quickly replaced the axe he was holding, then turned to Amber and gave a slight bow before heading for the door.

* * *

Cedra didn't seem nearly as confident as she entered, but maybe that was only to be expected. Her low score the first time around, after all, had nearly gotten her expelled from the Career pack. Probably not something she would have to worry about this time around, since Freya appeared to be her only ally, but still…

Still, that was no reason not to try her best. Cedra made her way to the weapons station, quickly chose a particularly fierce-looking machete, and began hacking away at one of the dummies. Then another. And another.

But whereas most tributes seemed to tire as their session went along, Cedra picked up her pace as the time wore on. Maybe she was simply becoming more confident, more comfortable. She was breathing hard, and sweat covered her training uniform, but she was grinning from ear to ear by the time she was done, convinced she had done better than last time.

And she had. The sheer number of dummies she had torn to shreds in a short amount of time was impressive. Maybe her technique hadn't been particularly refined. Maybe she'd lost a thing or two in the four years since her Games. But she was apparently ready – and willing – to give it another try. And that was all Amber could ask for.

* * *

Ebony breathed a sigh of relief as she entered the room, perhaps glad that her turn had finally come, or that they hadn't forgotten her. In any case, she didn't seem upset about being left until last. She quickly chose a pair of knives and began to circle the room, racing from dummy to dummy, slashing at them with her knives as she went.

Maybe she wasn't as fast as Cedra had been, but she kept up a good pace and didn't seem to slow at all as the minutes ticked by. Finally, with a few minutes remaining, she traded her knives for a sling and a pile of stones, and began flinging one after another at the dummies' heads.

Then, convinced she'd given as good a show as she would be able to, Ebony laid down her weapons and turned towards Amber and her fellow Gamemakers. "There's something I want you to know," she said at last. "I know what my parents did. I know what some of the tributes want me to do. I'm not them. I'm me. Judge me by my own merits, not their mistakes."

Amber nodded a little as Ebony turned to go. She wasn't pleading for a high score – not really. They both knew that was meaningless. Ebony was in no danger of losing her alliance if she scored too high or too low, and the sponsors would hesitate to flock to her because of her history. No, she was asking for something much more important: not to be targeted during the Games. Not to be slated for death simply because of her parents' actions. But the fact that she had been standing there, alive, was more than enough proof that Amber was willing to grant her request.

The same went for all the tributes, of course. Even the most rebellious. Whatever their families had done in the past – whatever they _themselves_ had done in the past – it was in the past now. What mattered most now was what they did in the Games. As long as they didn't say something _completely_ idiotic during the interviews, of course.

Most people didn't. Even the angrier tributes generally managed to hold it together. After making it through three days of training, as well as private sessions, most tributes were too invested in their chances to risk their lives by saying something stupid – something the audience wouldn't pay much attention to, anyway.

Amber, on the other hand, didn't have the luxury of not paying attention – not even for a moment. Quickly, she rounded up her fellow Gamemakers, some of whom had headed over to the food table the moment Ebony had left. Amber shook her head. She didn't like this any more than they did – the numbers, the statistics, the gambling – but there was no use complaining about it.

They had work to do.

* * *

" _First things first, but not necessarily in that order."_


	24. Training Scores: Pattern

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Just a reminder to vote in the sponsor poll at some point. It'll be up until the end of the interviews.

* * *

 **Training Scores  
** **Pattern**

* * *

 **Gabriel Pryde  
** **Hunger Games Host**

He always liked seeing the numbers.

Gabriel allowed himself a small, genuine smile as he glanced at the numbers on the paper in front of him. This year, more than ever, it was nice to have something concrete. Something certain.

Of course, there was nothing _absolutely_ certain about the numbers in front of him; that much, he could tell from even a quick glance. Even in a normal year, tributes' performances in the Games were impossible to accurately predict. There was always a tribute or two who did well in training, but who either backed out when it came to an actual fight, or got too cocky and charged into a fight they had no hope of winning. On the other hand, there was usually a tribute or two who didn't score well during training – either on purpose or because of a lack of confidence – but who turned out to be perfectly capable during the Games.

And that, naturally, was a good thing. If they could somehow predict with perfect accuracy who would do well – or even who would win – then the Games would lose their appeal, their sense of excitement. _Not_ knowing was all part of the fun. But the thrill of not knowing – the element of surprise – couldn't have its full effect if they didn't set up _some_ level of expectation in the first place.

Hence the numbers.

And this year, he was especially grateful. Because even without the numbers, the audience would have some preconceptions – right or wrong – about the tributes. They would remember their first Games. But how well they did the first time around wasn't necessarily a good basis for how they would do this time. Some were older. Some were damaged. Some were more than a little unhinged. Some would be more willing to kill this time around, some less willing. And, right now, the audience had no way of knowing which was which.

Not yet, at least.

The cameraman gave Gabriel a nod and held up five fingers. Four. Gabriel put on his best smile – wide and flashy, like the Capitol loved to see. _Three. Two. One._

"Good evening, and welcome back to the Third Quarter Quell! Today, as you know, each of our tributes had an opportunity to demonstrate their skills to our very own Gamemakers, who, after careful deliberation, have awarded the following scores…"

* * *

 _Aelin Kuang, with a score of nine._

 _Hadrian Xiao, with a score of six._

Aelin nodded as her score appeared on the screen. Almost as good as the first time around. She'd scored a ten, back in her day, but she hadn't fully expected to duplicate that feat. A nine was close enough. And besides, a sixty-year-old – even a sixty-year-old Career – earning a ten would have raised eyebrows. A nine, though – that was perfectly reasonable, given her experience. Her skill.

Hadrian, on the other hand, shook his head. What had he done wrong? Few Careers had ever scored a six, which was usually low enough to place a Career in danger of being kicked out of the pack. Not that he expected the others to expel him from the alliance, of course, but it would certainly weaken his authority.

But why would Amber want to do that? It clearly wasn't an issue of age; Aelin was older. He'd kept up his skills just as well as she had – if not better. Was she playing favorites? That didn't sound like her, but maybe she was hoping to stir up some tension within the pack – or, at least, between the two Careers.

Hadrian shook his head, glancing at Jay and Genesis, both of whom were trying not to look at him but were clearly waiting for an explanation – an explanation he was under no obligation to give. Whatever Amber was playing at, it wouldn't work. He knew all the tricks. They all did. This was just one more game – one more way to mess with their heads. And it wouldn't work.

He wouldn't let it.

* * *

 _Freya Basnett, with a score of four._

 _Demetrius Ashworth, with a score of ten._

Freya nodded, unsurprised by her own score. She hadn't expected her analysis of the other tributes to earn her much more than that. After all, she hadn't proven the most important thing: that she was willing to act on the information she'd gathered, to enact any of the strategies she'd concocted for defeating the others.

Because she still wasn't sure. Still wasn't convinced that she would be able to. It was easy for Demetrius. All he'd had to do was walk in and convince them that he was still the same strong, skilled tribute that he had been the first time around. And he was. He was just as capable, just as confident, as the day he had first entered the arena.

But she wasn't – physically or mentally – and there was no point in pretending otherwise. She would play their Games, but not as a Career. Not as the ruthless killer she had once been. Freya looked up as Sherman laid a hand gently on hers. He understood. He had always understood. She had to play this her own way.

Demetrius, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair, perfectly content as Avery offered a high five. Now he just had to hope his allies' scores would hold up. Hadrian and Aelin were almost certainly worried about the same thing – their outer-district allies' scores. If they didn't do well, then…

Then nothing. He didn't have a large enough pack to even consider kicking someone out because of a low training score. Besides, he doubted he could reject either Irina or Gareth without the other one leaving, as well. And a pack of one wasn't much of a pack. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed them.

At least for now.

* * *

 _Wisteria Cassava, with a score of three._

 _Euclid Hoover, with a score of two._

Euclid drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch, muttering softly to himself. "It's not fair. Didn't mean to set the trap off. Only wanted to fix it." Magnus muttered something that was probably supposed to be encouragement. Euclid was pretty sure he caught the words 'just ignore them.'

But he couldn't. He couldn't just ignore them – unless 'them' meant the entire Capitol. Ignoring them meant ignoring a significant factor in winning the Games. Even if, in the end, it was up to the tributes to fight it out in the arena, sponsors played a huge role in better equipping them to reach that point.

Sponsors. Who was he kidding? District Three rarely got sponsors. He certainly hadn't gotten any the first time around. The audience had felt sorry for him, certainly – but not enough to have any confidence in his chances.

Wisteria smiled a little. A three wasn't bad – not really. Not if she was hoping to avoid the other tributes' attention for a while. In fact, she'd scored a three the first time around, as well, and it hadn't hurt her chances then.

Why should it be any different this time?

* * *

 _Cedra Devere, with a score of seven._

 _Galen Archer, with a score of five._

Cedra couldn't help grinning as her score flashed on the screen. A seven! Maybe it wasn't the nine or ten that a Career could usually expect to earn, but it was higher than the six she had earned last time. And it was higher than Freya's score. She had been worried that Freya might not think she could pull her own weight. Now she had proven otherwise.

Galen clapped her on the back, then shrugged at his own score. "That's strange," Amari mused, shaking her head. "First Hadrian gets a six, and now you get a five. It has to mean something."

Galen shrugged. "Sure, it means something. We're getting old, love."

"No, it's more than that. Come here." She pulled Galen aside, away from Cedra. "What did you show them?"

"Archery, mostly."

"And what do you think Hadrian showed them?"

"I don't know. He's pretty proficient with—"

"Everything Yes, I know. But what's his specialty? Archery."

Galen shook his head. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm not sure," Amari admitted. "But I'll know after District Nine."

* * *

 _Shyanne James, with a score of five._

 _Valion Surge, with a score of four._

Shyanne blinked, surprised, as her score appeared. A five. Seven years ago, she had scored only a three. She hadn't been expecting to do much better this time, especially since Amber knew – _had_ to know – that she had agreed to an alliance with Evo and Felix.

Shyanne glanced over at Valion, who nodded encouragingly. "See? You _do_ have a chance." He didn't say it, but she could hear the rest. _You have a chance, so why are you throwing it away?_ She wished she had a good answer for him. Or any answer at all. What was she really hoping to accomplish? What were _any_ of them hoping to accomplish?

 _Stop it._ It was too late to back out now. Wasn't it? And if she left Felix and Evo now, who would take her? Valion and Silvesta? Maybe. But did she really want to ask? What would Felix and Evo think? Would _they_ want to target her then? Would they think she was a traitor?

 _Would_ that make her a traitor?

Valion opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Every time he said something, it seemed to be the wrong thing. Something that would push Shyanne even farther away. He glanced over at Audric, who shook his head helplessly. If Shyanne was going to change her mind, it had to be on her own terms. In her own time.

But the truth was, they were all running out of time.

* * *

 _Camryn Cartier, with a score of five._

 _Evo Ortega, with a score of seven._

Camryn couldn't help a raised eyebrow when she saw Evo's score. She had expected her own – or near enough. She'd scored a four the first time through; a one-point difference one way or the other wasn't all that shocking. But Evo…

She had assumed that the Gamemakers had been watching them during training. That they knew what Evo was planning. Who had joined him. And yet Shyanne had gotten a five, and Evo had gotten a seven. Perfectly normal scores. What was Amber playing at?

Evo simply chuckled as Ravi and Merril congratulated both of them. Amber was playing with them. Or maybe trying to entice him, to coax him away from his plan. To make him think that if he just played along now, he would have a chance. That all would be forgiven. That the Capitol would forget.

But the Capitol never forgot. And they never forgave. And neither would he. He had seen too much. He knew them too well. They had made the mistake of letting him survive once before, and they weren't about to make that mistake again. He had no chance.

So he might as well go down swinging.

* * *

 _Hatchet Ford, with a score of six._

 _Clark Tierney, with a score of eight._

Hatchet couldn't help cackling a little as the scores appeared. "Well, what do you know! Just the same as old Hadrian. Not bad, if I do say so myself."

Not bad at all. She wasn't kidding herself, of course. Scoring the same as Hadrian during training was one thing. Fighting on his level during the Games was another matter entirely. But, still, it felt good. To score as high as a Career – even an older Career – was refreshing. She'd scored only a four during her first Games.

And Clark – he's scored a six the first time around. They'd both improved by two points. Benton nodded a little. "Not bad, but don't get cocky. The Careers might see you as equals now, but that could be a good thing or a bad thing."

"Spoilsport," Hatchet accused, ruffling Benton's hair. But he was right. Maybe their scores had proven they could fight alongside the Careers, but that could also mean they'd be targeted as Careers.

Clark nodded, waiting. As it stood, he had the second-highest score in their alliance – second only to Aelin, who was only one point ahead. Benton was right about not getting cocky, but there was a part of him that couldn't help feeling satisfied with himself and his score, as if he'd already achieved a small victory.

And it felt good.

* * *

 _Cadaya Kallier, with a score of four._

 _Maximus Kellen, with a score of six._

Cadaya smiled at Simeon as the scores appeared on the screen. "Not bad," she shrugged, and Simeon nodded in agreement. She'd scored a five the first time, so a four wasn't bad – certainly not as detrimental as it might have been to other tributes. Training scores were mostly used to help sponsors determine who was a good bet. She hadn't been counting on getting sponsors, anyway.

"Three sixes in our alliance," Maximus mused, shaking his head. "Some Careers we are."

Cadaya rolled her eyes, winking at Simeon. Only Maximus would be upset about scoring the same as one of the Careers. Then again, he'd also scored the same as a seventy-seven year old woman, so maybe that explained his bad mood. But she'd scored lower than Hatchet, and she wasn't upset.

Of course, she'd never been too concerned about the numbers. They didn't really mean much once the Games began. They gave the sponsors some notion of who was worth supporting. They gave tributes something to talk about during the interviews. But that was pretty much it.

In the end, they were just numbers.

* * *

 _Ebony Kracov, with a score of six._

 _Aras Everett, with a score of five._

Ebony smiled, nodding quietly as Barric laid a hand on her shoulder. She'd earned a six during training last time, as well – the same as her allies. This time, a six was two points _better_ than her only ally, so it was certainly nothing to be ashamed of.

Aras, on the other hand, was unusually quiet – at least until a pounding on the door startled the four of them and Galen peeked his head through the door, with Amari alongside. "Aras? Got a moment?"

Aras cocked an eyebrow, but he and Charlie quickly joined Galen in the kitchen. Galen didn't waste any time. "We think we know what's going on with the scores, but we wanted to check on your score first. Now we're sure."

"Because we both showed archery skills?" Aras guessed.

"And Hadrian," Galen pointed out. "A six is higher than us, but pretty low for a Career."

"So you think they're low because of the number of archers in the arena?" Aras guessed. But that didn't really make sense. Why should it matter whether two or three tributes had shown the same skill?

Galen shook his head. "No. No, not at all." He smiled a little.

"I think they're low because of the _arena_."

* * *

 _Irina Cavell, with a score of nine._

 _Gareth Arch, with a score of eight._

Irina breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back on the couch. After scoring the only ten so far, Demetrius had probably been questioning whether they would make good allies, after all. But a nine and an eight pretty much solidified them as qualified members of their little pack.

Not that there had really been a question, of course. If Demetrius decided they weren't worth having as allies, what other option did he have? To run back to Aelin and Hadrian with his tail tucked between his legs, admitting he was wrong? That didn't sound like Demetrius. For better or worse, they were a team.

And a pretty good team, from the look of it. Gareth nodded a little, glancing around at Aramanth, Robben, and Irina. He'd had his doubts about joining the Careers, but even he had to admit that things seemed to be working out pretty well so far – or, at least, as well as they had any right to expect. Now they would just have to wait and see whether their luck would hold during the Games.

No. Not luck, he reminded himself. It wasn't up to luck, in the end – not for the most part, anyways. It was skill. It was timing. It was knowing who to trust and who not to trust. There were plenty of variables, to be sure, but, in the end, luck played a rather small role in the Games.

And maybe that was a good thing.

* * *

 _Ira Hope, with a score of eight._

 _Jani Aramine, with a score of four._

Ira practically burst out laughing when she saw her score. An eight. She knew she had done well, but not _that_ well. Either she'd done much better than she'd thought, or the other tributes had done much worse, and the Gamemakers were compensating.

But that didn't seem likely. If they were trying to compensate for their somewhat rustier skills by inflating the scores, then they would have given out more than one ten. More than two nines. As it was, she had scored lower than only three tributes: Demetrius, Aelin, and Irina. And she had tied Gareth and Clark. Neither Felix nor Silvesta seemed likely to tie that, so that put her in the top quarter of the tributes. Not bad.

Jani nodded a little as Irina and Hylan congratulated Ira. She'd certainly earned it. But he was grateful now that he'd decided to join Galen and Aras, instead. They'd both earned fives, only slightly higher than his own score, which made them much less likely to consider him dead weight. And neither of them seemed particularly likely to turn on an ally.

"Jani!" called a voice at the door, and Jani glanced up to see Aras and Galen standing there, with their mentors behind them. Galen gestured to Jani to join them, and Aras nodded.

"We need to talk."

* * *

 _Silvesta Ardin, with a score of three._

 _Felix Norwood, with a score of one._

Silvesta nodded, glancing anxiously over at Felix as their scores appeared on the screen. Her own, she had expected. But what had Felix done? He hadn't said two words since their private sessions, and he didn't seem likely to talk about it now. He simply shrugged and headed for his room.

"He'll come around," Moira said gently, but Silesta was beginning to doubt it. Whatever Felix, Evo, and Shyanne had planned, Felix clearly meant to see it through to the end, and maybe that had meant defying the Gamemakers in some way. But it didn't seem to have had any effect on Shyanne and Evo's scores. Was that part of the plan? Did Felix mean to take the fall for all of them?

Silvesta sighed, leaning back on the couch. What he had planned wasn't any of her business. Not really. He was an adult now. He could take care of himself.

Felix finally allowed himself a little smile as he plopped down on the bed. It was a small victory, maybe. But he had done something, at least, to show the Gamemakers that he wasn't going to play by their rules. Not this time. Playing by their rules got people killed.

And he wasn't going to let that happen again.

* * *

" _History sometimes gives us a terrible shock, and that is because we don't quite fully understand. Why should we? After all, we're too small to realize its final pattern."_


	25. Interviews: Truth

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** I started writing interviews and there wasn't really a good stopping point after four districts, which is where I usually break up the interviews, or after six. So I just went ahead and lumped them all into one longer chapter. Which only leaves one chapter (after this) before the Games.

Results of the sponsor poll are up on my profile. Congratulations to the top four tributes, who (due to a three-way tie for second place) will be receiving a sponsor gift at some point if they survive the bloodbath.

New poll on my profile, this time asking who you _think_ will make the final eight. Please note that this is not necessarily the same as who you _want_ to make the final eight. (That will be a later poll.) As usual, please make this little math teacher happy and vote for _eight_ tributes for the final eight. ;)

* * *

 **Interviews  
** **Truth**

* * *

 **President Julian Linus**

It was hard to believe it was almost time.

Julian took a deep breath as the last of the lights lit up onstage. The Games' host, Gabriel Pryde, took his place onstage, grinning at the audience and practically shouting a few words of welcome. The audience was only half-listening above their own cheering and shouting. He wasn't the one they wanted to see.

Gabriel was necessary, of course. They all were. Gabriel. Amber. Even himself. But they seemed to play smaller and smaller roles as the Games went on, took on a life of their own. The provided the arena. The stage. The props. But it was the players that truly brought the Games to life.

And they were the ones the audience wanted to see.

Julian leaned back in his chair. That was perfectly fine with him. For most of the year, he was the one in the spotlight. The one everyone turned to for guidance, for direction. To have twenty-four tributes steal the spotlight for a few weeks was a bit of a relief. A slight reprieve from the constant attention, the questions, the pressure.

It wouldn't last, of course. But, for now, it wasn't about him. It wasn't about Gabriel or Amber or the Capitol. Right now, it wasn't even about the Games. It was about the twenty-four people who were about to appear onstage. Their stories. Their past and their future. Their hopes, their fears, their plans – all captured in three minutes. Julian smiled a little as the first of their Victors appeared onstage, greeted with thunderous applause.

It was time.

* * *

 **Jay Royal, 29  
** **District One Mentor**

She certainly looked prepared.

Jay nodded approvingly as Aelin took her place onstage, dressed in a long, flowing black dress, a beautiful pearl necklace, and a silver tiara. Maybe she wasn't as young as the Careers the Capitol was used to seeing, but she had lost none of her confidence.

Gabriel beamed as Aelin took a seat beside him. "Well, Aelin, you certainly look lovely tonight."

Aelin smiled back sweetly. "Why, thank you, Gabriel. You look lovely, too. I don't think you've aged a day since my Games," she crooned, her voice a little too syrupy for Jay's liking. The audience loved it, though, chuckling at the sight of a sixty-year-old Career flirting with their equally elderly host.

Gabriel took it in stride, though. "Neither have you, Aelin. Neither have you. And from the look of things, you're just as fierce as ever. _Volunteering_ for the Games a second time – tell us a little about what prompted that."

"Well, it went so well the first time," Aelin shrugged, earning another round of laughter from the audience. "But, in all seriousness, Gabriel … I missed this. The lights, the crowds, the wonder of it all. It's still alluring – even for some of us who are a bit more … experienced."

"And it certainly looks like that experience will pay off," Gabriel agreed. "A nine in training – second only to Demetrius. That's pretty impressive."

Aelin nodded. "I'm just glad that I was able to convince Amber to look past my age – maybe even to see it as an asset, rather than a hindrance. I know myself, I know my own abilities, and I know what I'm doing – and that … it's invaluable."

Jay nodded along as Aelin continued, trying to focus on her experience rather than her physical capabilities. He hoped she was right. That they really did stand a chance – her and Hadrian.

Hadrian. Jay took a deep breath as his mentor passed Aelin on his way to the stage, shaking her hand warmly and congratulating her. He was as calm as ever as he made his way across the stage and took a seat next to Gabriel. "Good evening, Gabriel."

"Good evening, Hadrian!" Gabriel beamed back. "Is that some camaraderie I see between you and Aelin? Can I assume the pair of you are part of the Career pack this time around."

"One of them," Hadrian confirmed. "We're the largest pack, but, to be honest, we're not strictly Careers this time around."

Gabriel leaned forward a little. "A little tension between the Career districts, hm? Can you explain how that happened, Hadrian?"

Hadrian hesitated for a moment before answering, maybe considering whether to blame the whole thing on Demetrius. He certainly had the right to. But, instead, he simply shrugged. "There were disagreements about whether all of us working together would be the best strategy, and, ultimately, we decided to split."

Gabriel nodded, perhaps a little disappointed that Hadrian hadn't supplied the juicy Career drama he'd been looking for. "No hard feelings, then?"

"No hard feelings," Hadrian confirmed. "Anger, revenge, disagreement – I've never believed they have a place in the Games. It's strategy and skill – and that's all."

Jay shook his head. The audience cheered just as loudly for Hadrian as they had for Aelin, but it was clear that wasn't what they wanted to hear. They didn't want to hear about strategy – not really. Whether Hadrian wanted to admit it or not, emotion was a driving force in the Games – for both the tributes and the audience. How long was he planning to ignore the fact that, once there were two Career packs, the audience would want nothing more than to see a bloody, emotional clash between them? How long could they all pretend there were no hard feelings?

Certainly not for much longer.

* * *

 **Avery Bennett, 21  
** **District Two Mentor**

She wasn't sure she could take this much longer.

Avery leaned over towards Sherman as Hadrian left the stage, shaking Freya's had warmly as they passed each other. "They do realize this is a fight to the _death_ , right? That they're going to have to _kill_ each other."

Sherman chuckled softly. "Give them time, Avery. It's been so long since any of them have really had to think about killing anyone. If they'd rather focus on the show, the costumes, the fun – or on their allies – I can't say that I really blame them."

Avery shook her head. Maybe he was right. But once they were in the Games, they couldn't afford to be so chummy. Demetrius seemed to understand that just fine, but Freya…

 _Stop it._ Freya wasn't her problem. Freya was Sherman's tribute. His responsibility. Just like Demetrius was hers.

But as Freya took the stage, dressed in a velvety red dress, black gloves, a black pendent, and black heels, Avery couldn't help thinking – not for the first time – that Sherman had gotten the raw end of the deal. Freya's outfit looked fierce enough, it was true, but everything else was wrong. The way she held herself. Her small smile as she took a seat next to Gabriel. Her quiet "thank you" when he complimented her on her outfit.

Gabriel was quick to make up for it, though. "In fact – correct me if I'm wrong – I believe that's the same outfit that you wore for your interview … what was it? Twenty-eight years ago?"

Twenty-eight years. And Gabriel had been hosting the Games at least that long. Exactly when he'd started, Avery wasn't sure, but it was long before she had been born.

"It is – or, at least, it's _mostly_ the same outfit," Freya confirmed. "We had to make a few adjustments; I've grown a bit since then."

"I think I have, too," Gabriel agreed, giving his stomach a pat. "And what else have you been up to since your own Games?"

 _Say something about the training center_ , Avery silently urged. _Say you've been helping other tributes reach their potential. Say you love mentoring. Say you're thrilled to be back in the Games, even if it's a lie._

It would be a lie, of course. Freya hadn't been to the training center in years. She hadn't mentored in a long time. Instead, she simply smiled at Gabriel. "Well, honestly, it took me a while to adjust to a normal life again. But once I did, I decided that I wanted to do something for my district. So I became a teacher."

"A teacher. At the Career Academy?" Gabriel prompted.

Freya laughed a little – a hearty, genuine laugh. "No. No, nothing like that. Just a normal, everyday teacher. Well, teaching _assistant._ I help out at one of the elementary schools. After so much killing, so much death, it's rewarding to see children … just live."

Avery sighed, leaning back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest. On the one hand, it was great that Freya had found something meaningful to do after her own Victory. She had found something she loved, and Avery couldn't begrudge her that. But that wasn't going to help her appeal to the audience.

And it _certainly_ wasn't going to help her in the arena.

Demetrius immediately made a much better impression, striding confidently onto the stage in a sharp, deep purple suit and giving Freya a friendly clap on the back as they passed each other. Immediately, he settled into the chair next to Gabriel, and the two began chatting away.

"So, Demetrius, how does it feel to be the only tribute to earn a ten?"

Demetrius grinned broadly. "To be honest, Gabriel, I'm still taking it all in. I scored a ten during my first Games, sure, but I wasn't the only one. It puts me in a … much different position this time around, I think. Paints me as something of a front-runner, I suppose. And maybe that paints a target on my back, but I think I can handle it."

That was more like it. Avery finally smiled a little as Gabriel continued. "I'd say you're handling everything _very_ well. Now, Demetrius, as I understand it, you've chosen _not_ to join Hadrian and Aelin's Career pack. Can you tell us a little about why?"

"Of course. Alliances in the Games are all about mutual benefit. Now, I have a lot of respect for both Hadrian and Aelin – both as fellow Careers and as much more experienced tributes. But I was looking for the most capable allies, and, this time, as it happens, I found them outside the traditional Career system."

"Interesting," Gabriel nodded. "So you don't feel like you're … betraying your fellow Careers?"

For a moment, Demetrius' mask fell. That was _exactly_ what he had said, more than once, when they'd discussed whether or not he should leave the pack. But they had always come back to the same answer.

Demetrius shook his head, and his smile returned. "No. And you know why? Because each and every one of them would do the same thing. If more than one of us could survive, then yes. I would do everything in my power to save my fellow Careers, as well. But one person wins. One. And once I'm out of the arena again, it won't matter who my allies were. It won't matter who I betrayed along the way in order to get there.

"Am I betraying my fellow Careers? Maybe. But no more than I'm betraying every other Victor I might kill in that arena. And I can live with that. Why? Because I have to." He shook his head, arms folded across his chest.

"It's as simple as that."

* * *

 **Magnus Sigma, 57  
** **District Three Mentor**

They made it sound so simple.

Magnus shook his head as Demetrius left the stage. Form alliances. Fight. Kill. Survive. They made it sound so simple. So easy.

It was never that simple. Never that easy. But how complex could you get in three minutes? Three meaningless minutes, trying to explain the Games to people who would never fully understand. Thousands of people in the audience – millions of people across Panem – who would never understand what it was like in the arena.

Only seventy-four of them really knew. Well, sixty-seven of them who were still alive. They were the only ones who knew what it was like. The only ones who could really understand any of it.

Magnus smiled a little as Wisteria took the stage, wearing a simple light blue dress and dark blue flats. She understood – understood how useless it was. She was scowling silently back at Gabriel as she took a seat next to him.

Gabriel, however, was completely undeterred. "So, Wisteria, how does it feel to be back in the Capitol again after all these years?"

For a moment, Wisteria didn't answer. She simply stared at Gabriel, then back out at the audience. Finally, she shook her head. "Terrible."

Magnus giggled a little. Next to him, Hypatia shook her head as Gabriel tried desperately to recover. "Yes, it's a difficult time for all of us. So much excitement, so much stress. But you've always been very good at handling stress, haven't you. During your own Games, you – I don't think you cracked once." He shook his head. "Come to think of it, I don't think you said a word, did you?"

Another brief silence before Wisteria finally answered. "No."

Gabriel nodded. "That's it, then – I love it. Silence. Wisteria, the silent killer. I take it you're going to be employing the same tactics during these Games?"

Silence. Silence was all he received. Magnus smiled as Wisteria continued, giving one-word answers to every question that came up, making no effort to conceal the disgust on her face.

Finally, the audience gave a light applause as she left the stage and Euclid took her place, wearing a purple silk shirt, a black jacket, and a matching kilt. After Wisteria's interview, even the fact that Euclid was smiling was a relief, and at least he had some energy as he took a seat next to Gabriel.

Unfortunately, most of it was nervous energy. Almost immediately after taking a seat, he began tapping his feet, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. Gabriel, however, did his best to ignore it. "So, Euclid, it's been a while since you were last on this stage. You've certainly grown up."

He had, indeed. Euclid had been twelve years old during his Games. But there was a part of him that was still that same, frightened child. A part that started babbling almost incoherently as soon as Gabriel finished his question. "Grown up. Yes. Yes, I've grown up. But now I'm back – back here. Back where I was a child, and … and…" He trailed off, staring at the crowd, frozen.

Gabriel leaned in a little closer, which only made Euclid shrink back suddenly. "I'm sorry. I … I—I can't do this." Before Gabriel could get any farther, Euclid sprang up and ran from the stage.

"Damn it," Hypatia muttered as both Gabriel and several of the tributes tried unsuccessfully to coax Euclid back onto the stage. Magnus simply shrugged. If he didn't want to talk, he didn't want to talk. He couldn't avoid going into the arena, of course, but he could avoid this. And if that gave him some small measure of control in a terrible situation … well, all the better.

It wasn't as if he could make the situation worse.

* * *

 **Elias Monet, 33  
** **District Four Mentor**

At least the situation couldn't get any worse.

Elias braced himself as the others finally gave up on trying to convince Euclid to return to the stage, and Cedra reluctantly took his place, wearing a long, flowing gold dress and matching gloves. Immediately, it was clear she didn't want to be there any more than Euclid did, but at least she managed to smile a little as she took a seat beside Gabriel.

"Well, seems like it's quite an emotional night for everyone," Gabriel observed. "How are you holding up, Cedra?"

Cedra swallowed hard. "All right. I'm still alive, so I suppose that's something."

"And I hope you stay that way for a long time," Gabriel nodded. Elias couldn't help a slight scoff. He could pretend to be impartial all he wanted. Pretend that he wanted each of the tributes to make it out alive. But the truth was, Gabriel had his favorites, just like everyone else. He was simply better at hiding it.

Cedra, however, was clearly doing her best not to break down at his words. "Me, too," she whispered softly. Then, apparently remembering where she was and what she was supposed to be doing, she tried to recover. "I mean, I'm certainly going to do my best to stay that way – as long as I can. Until the end of the Games. I mean…"

 _Breathe. Come on, you can do it._ But she couldn't. "I just want to live," she whispered , trying desperately to hold back tears.

Gabriel did his best to recover after that, but nothing seemed to work. It was a relief when Cedra's time was up, and Galen took her place, wearing a simple, long golden cloak. As they passed each other, Galen reached out and wrapped Cedra in a warm hug. Cedra, clearly startled, held on as long as he would let her before releasing him and allowing him to take a seat beside Gabriel.

"Do I get a hug, too?" Gabriel teased.

Galen shrugged. "Do you want one?"

"Maybe later."

"Fair enough." Galen settled into his seat with a smile. "Been a while."

"That it has, Galen. That it has. You were my first Victor – Did you know that?"

Galen chuckled. "Well, what do you know. You were my first host."

Gabriel laughed. "I suppose that's true. So, Galen, how does it feel to be back for another Quarter Quell?"

Galen shrugged. "A bit like the first time, I suppose. The tributes are a little older. The host is a little older." That got a laugh from the audience. "But the concept is still the same."

"So there's not really a difference?"

"Not particularly. Every Games is different, but the concept is the same. Twenty-four go in. One comes out. Simple numbers – about as simple as it gets, really."

"Speaking of numbers, there are some who might consider another number – sixty-six – to be a disadvantage. What can you tell us about going into the Games at your age?"

That earned a long, hearty laugh from Galen. "Well, I can tell you for certain that it's not a disadvantage. Think about it, Gabriel. It's been fifty years since my last Games, and those fifty years have been … well, they've been something. Some of these tributes are so young, and they're hurting so much, that they don't really understand how wonderful life can be. I do … and that means I'll fight harder for it."

Elias nodded. Galen was right about that much, at least. He'd had a good life. So many of the younger tributes were so damaged, still recovering from their own Games. Why shouldn't the victory go to someone who would actually _enjoy_ the rest of their life?

But that wasn't how the Games worked. The crown didn't always go to the fastest, the strongest, the most capable. But, by the same token, it didn't always go to the person who simply wanted it the most. It was a bit of skill, a bit of strategy, and a whole lot of luck.

But maybe District Four would get lucky again.

* * *

 **Audric Voltaire, 72  
** **District Five**

Maybe it would be worth it in the end.

Audric allowed himself a smile as Galen, true to his word, ended his interview by giving Gabriel a long hug. Audric nodded, reminding himself to thank Galen later. That was the first time he'd been able to really smile since…

No. No, he couldn't tell Galen that. Couldn't tell anyone that. He would take his secret to the grave. Maybe he shouldn't feel guilty. After all, if he hadn't acted, things might have gone very differently. The interviews might be headed in a completely different direction. But now things were different. Now…

Now the rebels – such as they were – knew there was no hope. No chance of success. A few of them were clinging to a faint glimmer, he knew, but that wouldn't be enough. He only hoped that Shyanne would have the sense to separate herself from Evo and Felix before anything actually happened.

And maybe she would. She had seemed to hesitate, when the training scores were announced. Valion had almost gotten through. But Audric had said nothing. Nothing he could have said would have made things any better.

Nothing he said could make up for what he had done.

Audric clenched his fists as Shyanne took her place, looking almost like the twelve-year-old child from seven years ago, wearing a sparkling red dress and red ruby heels. As the light hit her dress, jolts of electricity – almost like lightning bolts – seemed to shoot out from the fabric.

It was only a trick, he knew. Just a bit of static electricity conducted to the right place. A good use of energy. But that didn't make the audience love it any less. They were applauding as Shyanne took a seat beside Gabriel.

Now all she had to do was not ruin the moment.

"So nice to see you again, Shyanne," Gabriel began. "You look as lovely as ever."

"And you look as happy as ever," Shyanne returned. _So far, so good._ "Why is that?"

"Well, I suppose it's because all of my favorite Victors are back together in the same place," Gabriel smiled, clearly wondering where this line of questioning was going – or maybe even why Shyanne was the one asking the questions.

"And why are we here?"

"For the Games, of course."

Shyanne let out a light giggle. "No, no, silly. I meant why are _we_ here? Why Victors this year instead of the usual tributes?"

"Because of the Quell," Gabriel answered, clearly uneasy. "Those are the rules."

"Do you want me to die, Gabriel?" Shyanne asked, cocking her head to the side, looking almost like a bird.

"No, of course not, but—"

"Then why not change the rules?"

Gabriel quickly moved on, but the question lingered in the air. _Do you want me to die?_ No. No, of course he didn't. Audric swallowed hard. He didn't want her to die. That was why he had—

 _Stop it._ Audric shook himself from his thoughts as the crowd cheered for Shyanne, who gave Valion a friendly smile as they passed each other. Valion smiled back warmly, clearly unsure about whether more – a hug, perhaps – would be welcomed or not. After a moment, he decided against it and moved quickly to his seat next to Gabriel, smoothing his dark green shirt and maroon suit as he sat down.

"So, Valion," Gabriel began. "It's been an eventful few days – especially for District Five. Maybe that can account for a bit of Shyanne's … restlessness? Can you shed a little light on the situation for the rest of us?"

Audric cocked an eyebrow. Gabriel was taking a chance, certainly. Betting that Valion would know what to say, would be able to find the right words. Valion leaned forward a little. "I think it all comes back to the rules."

"The rules," Gabriel repeated.

Valion nodded. "I have three grandchildren – a granddaughter and two grandsons. Their parents – my daughter Grace and her husband Douglas – well, they have lots of rules. And those rules don't always make sense to Bailey, Lilly, and Tommy. But most of the time, they follow them. Do you know why?"

Audric could see the relief on Gabriel's face. "Why?" he asked, and leaned back, letting Valion take it from there.

"Because, even though they don't always _understand_ the rules, they trust their parents enough to believe that those rules exist for a reason. The same is true of the Capitol and the Games. Do the districts always like the Capitol's rules? Do they always seem fair? Not necessarily. But we follow them, because that's how the whole family – the whole country – flourishes.

"The same can be said about this Quell, I think. From our own, limited points of view, it might seem sad. It might even seem a bit unfair. But I trust the Capitol – and the wisdom of the creators of the Quell – enough to believe that there's a larger reason for it, and that all of Panem will end up being stronger because of it."

"And Shyanne?"

"Shyanne is a child. There's no harm in that – and no shame in it, either. It's only natural, perhaps, for a child to ask whether the rules can be changed – or to refuse to play by the rules and simply quit the game, as Rufus did. I only hope she realizes that she needs to grow up … for her own sake."

Audric nodded a little, leaning back in his chair as Valion continued. He understood. Valion always seemed to understand exactly what people needed to hear. He always seemed to find the right thing to say.

And maybe that would be enough.

* * *

 **Ravi Mazzarin, 78  
** **District Six**

Maybe Gabriel would decide that was enough.

Ravi drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as Valion finished. He had managed to ease at least some of the audience's fears about a possible rebellion. Ravi could only hope that would be enough for Gabriel – at least for now. Could only hope that he wouldn't try the same tactics on District Six.

Because it wouldn't work.

Ravi knew better than to hope that Camryn and Evo would go along with Valion's speech about rules and parents and children. They all knew better. If the Capitol was the parent of the districts, then they were better off as orphans. But he knew better than to say so. Most of them did.

He could only hope that Camryn and Evo would.

Shyanne, people could probably excuse. She was one of the younger Victors. She had won the Games when she was twelve. There was a part of her that still radiated a childlike innocence that might shield her from the Capitolites' criticisms. She was just a child. _There's no harm in that._

But Camryn and Evo didn't have that excuse. Whatever mistakes they made were theirs, and theirs alone. Ravi held his breath as Camryn took the stage, wearing a red ballgown that fell to her knees, a pair of crystal high-heeled shoes, and a string of pearls in her hair. She took a seat next to Gabriel, managing to smile a little.

Gabriel grinned. "It's wonderful to see you again, Camryn."

Ravi breathed a sigh of relief as Camryn decided to play along. "Good to see you, too, Gabriel. You're looking well."

Gabriel nodded. "So are you, my dear. So are you. Now, if I recall, the last time you sat here, you seemed a bit shaken up. You won your Games by … well, by quite the stroke of luck, if you don't mind my saying so."

Camryn shook her head. "It wasn't luck. It was loyalty. Darcy took on a Career in the finale, and they both died. I was smart enough to stay out of the fighting – that time – and it saved my life."

"It does seem to come down to that sometimes – knowing when to fight and when not to fight. How do you make that choice?"

"Instincts, mostly," Camryn admitted. "A few more seconds, and I might have charged instead of Darcy. A few seconds – that's all it takes. Just wait a few seconds, and it could be the difference between life and death."

"But hesitating – that can be just as dangerous, can't it?"

"Of course. It's a balance. And one I hope to find again."

Ravi allowed himself a smile as Camryn continued, playing along perfectly – maybe not as loyally as Valion, but well enough to appease the audience. Soon, her time was up, and Evo took her place, wearing a bright, rainbow-colored suit and a wry smile.

Gabriel dove right in. "Well, Evo, you certainly look sharp tonight."

"You look older," Evo returned, completely straight-faced.

Gabriel chuckled a little. "I suppose I do. It's been a long time since we were on this stage together."

"Not long enough," Evo mumbled, leaning back in his chair.

Gabriel smiled, undeterred. "You always did have a sense of humor – even after what happened to your sister."

"So have you – even while you're sending children to their deaths. Funny, how that works."

Ravi cringed a little as the pair continued, trading barely-concealed insults. Maybe Gabriel was acting on instructions from the Capitol. Maybe he held a grudge after all these years for the way Evo had acted onstage the first time. Or maybe he was simply tired of tributes blaming him for a Quell he'd had no say in, a reaping he had no control over.

Because it wasn't his fault. Not really. The guilt of the Games was too much to lay on one person. Even Gabriel. Even President Linus. The blame belonged to the whole Capitol – and maybe even the districts for going along with them. A little blame for each of them made it easier to bear.

Maybe that was how the Games had lasted so long.

* * *

 **Benton Murphy, 51  
** **District Seven**

He wasn't really sure how they had lasted this long.

Benton shook his head as Evo finally left the stage, still flinging insults at Gabriel on his way out. How he had made it out of his first Games, Benton still wasn't sure. As for Shyanne, that sweet little girl routine wouldn't save her forever. The Capitol wouldn't care how young she was. Eventually, the other tributes wouldn't care how sweet she was.

But that wasn't his problem. And it wasn't a problem that either of District Seven's tributes shared. Any possible suspicions about them rebelling had surely been quelled when they had decided to ally with Hadrian and Aelin. Hatchet was certainly a spitfire, but even she knew better than to ruin her chances by insulting their host.

Sure enough, Hatchet was smiling as she entered, wearing a long-sleeved, silver, diamond-studded gown and a gold crown embedded with blue gems. Rolling her eyes at Evo's surly scowl, she took her seat beside Gabriel without a complaint, even offering him a handshake, which he gladly returned.

Maybe he was simply grateful to be relieved of Evo's company, but Gabriel already seemed to be in a much better mood as he turned to Hatchet. "Welcome, Hatchet. So nice to finally meet you in person. I remember watching your Games when I was a little boy."

Hatchet chuckled. "What were you, two years old?"

"Five."

"You're just a youngster," Hatchet teased.

"Maybe," Gabriel grinned. "But this youngster remembers watching as a little girl from District Seven won the Hunger Games – only seven years after her brother had claimed the crown. If you could win, then—"

"If _I_ could win, then anyone could win, is that it?" Hatchet asked, throwing in a good-natured cackle. "Well, I suppose that's a good thing. After all, if fifteen-year-old me could win against all odds … maybe seventy-seven-year-old me can do the same."

"Maybe," Gabriel agreed. "You certainly seem to be an underdog this time around, as well. How does it feel to be the oldest tribute in the arena?"

"It feels different," Hatchet admitted. "I was one of the youngest tributes the last time. Now I'm one of the oldest. But I want to live – just as much as I did when I was fifteen. Maybe even more so. I have so much now that I didn't have last time. My son. My grandchildren. I've lost a lot over the years, but I've also gained a lot – and I don't mean to lose it just yet."

Benton smiled a little as the pair continued, mostly reminiscing about Hatchet's first Games. Finally, her time was up, and Clark took her place, wearing a simple brown suit and polished black shoes. The two smiled and clapped each other on the back as they passed.

Gabriel smiled and dove right in. "Well, Clark, we just spoke to one of our oldest Victors – and now we come to you, one of the youngest. How does it feel to be one of the youngest tributes this time around?"

Clark shrugged a little. "I think Hatchet has the right idea. It's certainly different. Last time, I was one of the oldest tributes. This time, almost everyone has more experience than I do. But that doesn't change the fact that I want to live – just as much as I did last time. That will to live, to survive – it got me through the Games once."

"That it did," Gabriel nodded. "And, if anything, you seem to be going into the Games in an even better position this time. An eight in training – that's pretty impressive, Clark."

"Thank you. I was a little surprised, I'll admit, but … well, I guess I've learned a bit since last time."

Gabriel leaned forward a little. "And what would you say is the most important thing you've learned?"

Clark thought for a moment, but then answered. "I would say that, during my first Games, I learned how to push through my fear. I was terrified during the Games. In some ways, I still am. But that fear … it doesn't have to paralyze you. It can make you stronger. It can help you survive."

Benton smiled. That obviously hadn't been the answer Gabriel had been expecting, but it was certainly an honest one. He could still see Clark shaking like a leaf at his first reaping, trembling all the way through his interview. Only a hint of that fear was visible now – just enough to let the audience know that he was telling the truth. He was still afraid – just as afraid as any of them.

And maybe it would save his life.

* * *

 **Jasper Ivener, 30  
** **District Eight**

Maybe being afraid wasn't such a bad thing.

Jasper leaned back in his chair as the audience applauded, still cheering as Clark left the stage. The audience usually seemed to favor the Careers and physically stronger tributes, but there was also something to be said for honesty. Not the sort of honesty that Shyanne and Evo had shown, but the sort of honesty that wasn't afraid to admit fear.

Because without fear, the Games wouldn't work. They were built on emotion, and, despite the Careers' attempts to appear emotionless and despite mentors coaching their tributes not to seem afraid, the crowds still gravitated towards tributes who were willing to admit their fear – and to overcome it. As much fun as they had watching Careers rip other tributes to shreds, the Games still relied on the little reminders that the tributes were, in fact, human.

For her part, Cadaya certainly seemed human as she took her place next to Gabriel, wearing a long, deep orange dress and light brown high heels. Her smile was weak, her hands shaking, her dress wrinkled from her fidgeting.

But she managed to hold it together as Gabriel leaned over to place a hand on hers. "Take a deep breath, dear. It's all right to be nervous; it's been a long time since you've been on this stage."

Cadaya took a deep breath, her voice shaking when she finally spoke. "It's not that. Honestly, it's not. It's not even the fear – not really."

Gabriel gave Cadaya's hand a gentle squeeze. "Then what is it?"

Cadaya glanced out at the crowd. "I wasn't this nervous last time, and I finally realized why. Last time … I was only really thinking about myself. About getting out alive. My family … I knew they were watching, I suppose, but I didn't really think about it."

"And now?"

"Now, it's not just my parents who are watching. Not just my sister. It's my husband. My daughters. My son. They're all watching, all waiting to see if I'm going to come home alive."

"And how does that feel?"

Cadaya shook her head. "It's … it's terrifying. But, in some ways, it's … well, it's comforting. If I want to talk to them, all I have to do is turn to the cameras and say _I love you_." She turned to the audience, smiling gently. "I love you, Ansel. Iris, Koder, Maia … I love you. Be good for your father until I'm back."

 _Until I'm back._ Good. Jasper had been worried, when she'd started talking about her family, that she would say goodbye. But she hadn't. She was still fighting, just as he would if he were the one onstage.

But he wasn't. Soon, Cadaya's time was up, and Maximus took her place, wearing a black button-down shirt and a dark blue suit. He didn't seem nearly as nervous. He never did. Jasper shook his head. Had he been nervous the first time?

Maximus' stern gaze didn't waver as Gabriel began. "Well, Maximus, we've had a lot of tributes talk about their families. Husbands, wives, children that they're desperate to get back to. Can you share a little about your family?"

Maximus nodded. "Of course. My wife Vina and I have a daughter and two sons. But don't expect me to wave to the cameras and whisper how much I love them."

Gabriel chuckled a little. "And why is that, Maximus?"

"Not because I don't love them, of course," Maximus assured him. "I just never had much use for sweet words. I've always believed that actions speak louder. I can say I love them as much as I want. But the best way to show it right now is by fighting like hell to get back to them. And then once I'm back, I'll tell them in person."

Gabriel nodded. "Confidence – that's good. And a six in training – not bad for someone your age."

That earned a quick _humph_ from Maximus. "Someone my age. You should talk." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Sure, I'm a bit older than most of them, but I'm still in pretty good shape. And I can still go toe-to-toe with the best of them."

"I bet you can," Gabriel agreed, but Jasper wasn't sure if he was joking or not. Maximus was certainly in good shape for his age, still strong so many years after his own victory. But the truth was that it was still more than thirty years since he'd been in a real fight.

Did he really have a chance?

* * *

 **Charlie Smelt, 25  
** **District Nine**

Did either of them really have a chance?

Charlie glanced over at Barric, who laid a hand gently on her shoulder, trying to be encouraging. But there was only so much he could do. Only so much that any of them could do now. Soon, the interviews would be over. Tomorrow, Ebony and Aras would be in the arena. Once they were, there was little she could do to help them.

There were sponsors, of course. But sponsors couldn't help them during the bloodbath. They would have to make it through that on their own before they could expect any help from the outside. And what help was either of them going to get? Ebony might get some sympathy, but chances were the sponsors would flock to the flashier, more confident Victors. And Aras…

Charlie shook the thought from her head as Ebony took the stage, wearing a long, black dress with thin, jagged stripes of red along the sleeves and near the bottom. Ebony smiled shyly as she took her seat next to Gabriel.

Gabriel beamed back. "Welcome back, Ebony. It's a pleasure to see you again – and so soon." He paused for a moment, maybe expecting a response, but Ebony said nothing. Gabriel continued, undeterred. "Your Games were the most recent. Do you think that will have any effect on how these Games go?"

Ebony took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm her nerves before continuing. "I hope so."

Gabriel nodded, encouraging her. "And what sort of effect would you hope that will have?"

"I…" She glanced out at the crowd, clearly a mistake. It was a moment before she could continue. "I remember what it was like to be in the Games. The memories are fresh. The fear is fresh. I remember how it feels to … to…"

"That could certainly be useful," Gabriel agreed quickly, trying to help. "To have the memories so fresh, to be able to snap right back into the right mindset for the Games – that's quite an advantage."

Ebony nodded a little. "I suppose so. It's just…" She trailed off, hesitant.

Gabriel leaned forward a little. "Just what."

Ebony shook her head. "It's just that I've had so little time. My Games were three years ago. Three. And now I'm back here. I thought I was going to be safe for the rest of my life, and now the rest of my life might be a few days. It's not…"

 _It's not fair._ That was clearly what she wanted to say. But she took a deep breath and corrected herself. "It's not exactly a comforting thought. But it gives me even more of a reason to fight. I have so much of my life ahead of me, and I'm not ready to let that go."

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief as Ebony continued. For a moment, she had thought that Ebony might break down completely. But she had recovered. And maybe that was the best any of them could hope for – to be able to recover from these terrible circumstances.

Aras, however, didn't seem to have much recovering to do as he took Ebony's place, wearing a dazzling silver suit and a matching, metallic-colored tie. He was grinning as he passed Ebony, shaking her hand confidently before offering Gabriel a handshake, as well. "Good to see you again, Gabriel."

Gabriel beamed back. "And you, Aras. Ebony's one of our most recent Victors, while you're one of our oldest. Most people would assume that age would play in the younger tributes' favor. Do you think of your age as an advantage or a disadvantage?"

Aras shrugged. "Neither. Age has nothing to do with it. We see that every year in the Games. Eighteen-year-olds can die in the bloodbath. Twelve-year-olds can win it all. Age is a factor, maybe, but not a defining one."

Gabriel leaned forward a little. "And what would you say _is_ the defining factor? What makes a tribute a Victor? And what makes a Victor the _ultimate_ Victor? What will determine who will come out on top this year?"

"Passion," Aras answered simply. "You have to want it."

"I see." Gabriel nodded. "But don't _all_ of you want it?"

Aras shook his head. "Yes and no. No one wants to die, of course, but there's a difference between not wanting to die and wanting to live. When you're in the Games, and you're cold and hungry and your whole body aches and you just want to lie down and wait for it to all end – _that's_ when you find out whether you really want to live."

"And do you?"

Aras nodded. "I did forty-five years ago. I still do. I've had a good life, Gabriel, but there's so much I still haven't done. It's tempting to think that younger tributes have more to live for, because they might have more years left. But it's not the years that matter. It's what you do with them. I've made the most of the last forty-five years, and, if I win again, I'll make the most of whatever time I have left." He smiled a little, turning to the audience.

"And that's all that any of us can do."

* * *

 **Robben Shepherd, 42  
** **District Ten**

He still wasn't sure how they did it.

Robben shook his head as Aras continued, his voice filled with pride when he talked about the last forty-five years and all he'd accomplished since his Games. How did they do it – Victors like Aras, like Galen, like Hatchet? How did they simply move on and embrace the rest of their lives? How could they pretend the Games hadn't left a mark on them?

Because, if he was being honest, he _hadn't_ embraced the time he'd had during the twenty-five years since his own Victory. He'd done his best, of course, to keep going – but for his daughter's sake, not for his own. There was nothing that he truly wanted anymore, other than to be left alone. Nothing he wanted to accomplish with his life, except raising his daughter.

Robben leaned back in his chair as Irina took the stage, wearing a short-cut, golden dress and a pair of golden high heels. She was smiling as she took a seat next to Gabriel, flipping her hair back over her shoulder.

Gabriel smiled back warmly. "So, Irina, we've heard from many Victors tonight who have families waiting for them at home. Children they want to get back to. Can you tell us a little about your own family?"

Irina nodded. "Of course. A few years after my Games, I married Sara, who's been there for me through … well, through everything. We adopted three children from the district community home – two daughters and a son." She leaned forward a little. "These children – they already lost their parents. I'm not going to let them lose another mother."

Gabriel nodded. "So you're going to be fighting for them."

Irina smiled. "Well, not _only_ for them, obviously. _I_ want to live, too." She let out a small laugh, and the audience chuckled along. "But, all joking aside, I don't know if you can really separate the two. I want to live because I have so much of my life left … but that life wouldn't mean nearly as much without them. I want to win for me. For Sara. For them. In the end, it comes down to the same thing."

"I see. And you certainly seem to be well on your way. A nine in training – the highest score, aside from Demetrius. Do you think that's an accurate reflection of your skills?"

"I certainly hope so." A few more laughs. "But, once you're in the Games, numbers are just numbers. I didn't win last time because I scored a ten in training; I won because I fought the hardest, kept going the longest. And that's not going to change."

Robben nodded. _Good._ He'd been worried for a little while that Irina might let her high score go to her head. He should have known better. She hadn't gotten cocky last time, and she wasn't about to make that mistake now. She was capable – and she knew it – but she also knew that it wasn't always the most capable tribute who won.

Soon, Irina's time was up, and Gareth took her place, wearing a white shirt, black trousers, blue suit, and blue leather shoes. He and Irina exchanged a look and a nod as they passed each other. Gareth's expression was solemn as he took his place beside Gabriel, who simply smiled back. "So, Gareth, we seem to have a pair of rather promising scores from District Ten this year. A nine for Irina, an eight for you. Do you think that says something about your chances?"

"Something," Gareth agreed. "But not everything."

"Can you tell us what you mean by that?"

Gareth nodded. "It's one thing to want to come home because your family wants you to. But my family … my family _needs_ me to. My wife Mel … she's very sick. She _needs_ my winnings as a Victor to continue to receive her treatment – and to find a treatment that truly works. If I die – if that money stops coming – I don't know how she and Lara would survive."

Gabriel nodded solemnly. "Now, Lara, your daughter – you and Mel adopted her from the orphanage. Seems to be something of a trend with your Victors. Do you think that says something about District Ten?"

Gareth raised an eyebrow. It clearly wasn't a question he had been expecting, but he took it in stride. "I think so. I think it says something about our … desire to leave a legacy. Something that will live on after us. After a few years of trying, Mel and I realized we couldn't have children, but we weren't about to let that stop us from having an impact on our district. Sara and Irina did the same. I think, deep down, we all want to leave the district a little better than we found it." He shook his head.

"But that doesn't mean I want to leave it just yet."

* * *

 **Hylan Dunn, 47  
** **District Eleven**

He wasn't entirely sure what she was doing yet.

Hylan drummed his fingers on his chair as Gareth and Gabriel continued. He hadn't really been paying attention to the other interviews. After so many, they started to blend together. But now he forced his attention back to the stage, curious about what Ira might say.

He still hadn't figured out what she was planning, and she hadn't seen fit to tell him. At first, it had seemed, she had been content to accept Jani as an ally … but then she had sought out Camryn, instead. Whether she had left Jani or Jani had left her, he wasn't sure. Maybe they had mutually agreed that the alliance was a bad idea.

And maybe it was. Maybe Aras and Galen were a better fit for Jani. But Camryn … What was Ira playing at? Camryn was clearly trying to distance herself from Evo, but no one had forgotten what had happened during the chariot rides. She had seemed perfectly content to go along with Evo's shenanigans then. The audience wasn't going to simply ignore that.

So what was Ira planning? And why hadn't she told him?

Hylan shook his head. Whatever she was planning, it was her business. Yes, he was her mentor, but she was just as capable. Just as experienced. She could make her own decisions, and if she wanted to keep her secrets … well, that was her choice.

Hylan leaned forward a little as Ira took the stage, wearing a beige and black ball gown and black flats. She smiled sweetly as she took a seat beside Gabriel. "Good evening, Gabriel."

Gabriel beamed back. "Good evening, Ira. It's lovely to have you here again."

"It's lovely to be here." Hylan cocked an eyebrow. She almost sounded sincere. Almost. None of them were happy to be here, of course. But maybe she figured the audience had heard enough sob stories for the night.

Gabriel dove right in. "So, Ira, we seem to have quite a few higher scores from the outer districts this year. An eight and a nine for Gareth and Irina. An eight for Clark. And an eight for you. Do you think there's anything in particular that's contributing to that?"

Ira shrugged. "Experience. In a normal year, there's such a gap between the Careers' skills and the skills of outer-district tributes, because they've trained and we haven't. This year, that gap is gone. We've all been through the Games once. We all know what it's like to kill. We all know what we're capable of. The advantage the Careers usually have … it's gone. And, let's be honest, a few of them are … well, older. Or, at least, not as young as they used to be."

"Or as young as you."

"Well, to put it bluntly, yes. I'm still very much in my prime, and to not recognize that as an advantage would be … well, a bit ridiculous."

Hylan allowed himself a small smile. She was right, of course. All the Victors who had claimed that experience would be an advantage over an able, youthful body were just kidding themselves – and the audience. Strategy and experience could only keep them alive for so long. Eventually, they would have to fight, and Ira realized that.

But did Jani?

Hylan watched silently as the audience cheered for Ira. She gave a small curtsy as she left, not even glancing at Jani as they passed. Did she blame him for leaving her alliance? Or was she simply trying to avoid giving the impression that the two of them were allies?

Either way, Jani shook it off as he took a seat beside Gabriel, wearing a simple dark green button-down suit, a light green tie, and black pants. "So, Jani," Gabriel began, smiling as he dove right in. "How does it feel to be back?"

Jani smiled as widely as he could. "Feels a bit strange, to be honest. I've been back to the Capitol as a mentor, obviously, but it's different when you're a tribute. It's a lot more relaxing."

"Relaxing," Gabriel repeated. Clearly, that wasn't quite the word he had expected anyone to use.

Jani shrugged. "Sure. Parades, training, interviews. You have to worry about those things when you're a mentor, but you're always the one behind the scenes. Arranging everything, making sure the tributes know what to do, what to say. You never really get to enjoy the moment, never really get to take it all in."

"Sounds like you're enjoying yourself," Gabriel observed.

"Oh, absolutely. This is the part I'm good at." That got a laugh from the audience. "Look, it's no secret that I was absolutely terrified last time. Spent the whole Games hiding, didn't get into a real fight until the finale. But this part – _this_ is what I'm good at. Doesn't take a lot of talent to enjoy your food and festivities."

Another round of laughter. "And what about the Games?" Gabriel asked. "As you said, your strategy last time wasn't particularly … aggressive. Do you think that's going to change?"

"I don't know," Jani admitted. "It worked pretty well last time." The audience gave a little chuckle. "Honestly, though … I don't think there's really any way to know beforehand what you're going to do in the Games. You can go in with a plan, but, most of the time, it's blown to hell by the time the bloodbath is even over, anyway. So I'm going to do what I did last time – play it by ear, trust my instincts, and do my best to stay alive."

Hylan nodded a little. Jani was nothing if not honest. The audience knew he wasn't a fighter, so there was no use in pretending to be. At the very least, the audience seemed to like him.

But how long would that keep him alive?

* * *

 **Henley Walsh, 19  
** **District Twelve**

At least the audience seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Henley glanced around at the audience as Jani and Gabriel continued, joking back and forth, earning bursts of laughter here and there. That was more than they would get from District Twelve, Henley was certain. Even if Felix decided not to make a fuss, there was no chance of either him or Silvesta being this entertaining. It simply wasn't their strong suit.

Not that she was in any position to criticize them, of course. Charm had never exactly been _her_ strong suit, either. Try as they might, District Twelve simply didn't have a reputation for exciting, charismatic tributes. Or exciting … well, anything.

Silvesta certainly didn't seem to be in a position to break that trend. As Jani left, she took the stage, wearing a simple black dress and a string of pearls around her neck. She was barely smiling as she took a seat beside Gabriel.

Gabriel, however, was clearly still in a good mood. "Wonderful to see you again, Silvesta. Have you been enjoying your time back in the Capitol, too?"

Silvesta nodded a little. "Actually, yes. I've only been back once since my own Games."

"When you mentored two years ago?" Gabriel asked, though he clearly knew the answer.

"Yes. Esteban had just passed away a few months earlier, and Felix … well, Felix didn't want to mentor, so that left me and Moira." Henley nodded. Two years ago. Had it really been two years since she had won her Games? Sometimes it seemed like less, but other times … sometimes it seemed like a lifetime since her own Games. She and Moira had mentored together the next year, and now… now it would be her and Moira next year, unless either Silvesta or Felix returned.

"You and Moira," Gabriel repeated. "That brings me to the question everyone's been wanting to ask since the reaping."

"You want to know why I volunteered for her?"

"Well, in a word … yes."

Silvesta finally smiled a little. "The Games can be a … a confusing place. So often, everything is unclear. Fuzzy. Grey. Right and wrong – they become blurred, and even forgotten because survival … survival is everything. But, every so often, there's a moment. A moment of complete clarity. I had one of those at the reaping. Saving Moira's life … it was the right thing to do. And I wanted to take the opportunity to finally do something right. Something good."

Henley glanced over at Moira, who had tears in her eyes. Whatever happened tomorrow, Silvesta had given Moira – and the rest of District Twelve – a priceless gift. They had lost Esteban two years ago. They wouldn't lose Moira this year.

Henley relaxed a little as Silvesta continued. Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as she had assumed. Maybe this would be the year that District Twelve finally made a positive impact during the interviews. Maybe…

But whatever hopes District Twelve had of making a good impression were immediately shattered once Felix stormed onstage, taking Silvesta's place next to Gabriel with a scowl. "Well, here we are again."

Gabriel nodded, unfazed. "So we are. Now, Felix—"

Felix glared. "Oh, no, you don't. These are _my_ three minutes, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you waste them asking stupid questions. You – you've sat here for what? Fifty years? Fifty years of watching children go off to their deaths. Of laughing and smiling while they're torn to shreds. Well, you don't get to laugh – not this time. I'm not here to entertain you. I'm not here for you to laugh at, to bet on, to root for."

"You don't want people to—"

"Shut _up_!" Felix spat. "If I didn't see those guards waiting in the wings with tranquilizer darts, I'd choke the life out of you right here." He shook his head. "But what good would it do, anyway? They'd easily find someone to take your place. All you have to do is sit there and smile and pretend we should all be _happy_ that we're going to our deaths! Any of them could do it."

"I don't think—"

"You're absolutely right; you _don't_ think. None of you." He turned his tirade to the audience. "Any of you could do exactly what he's doing right now. Sitting here, smiling, when he knows some of us are going to be dead tomorrow – and twenty-three of us eventually. Every year, and you just sit there, doing nothing. _Nothing!_ People call us monsters because we kill each other for your entertainment, but _you're_ the monsters. All of you. Each and every one of—"

Felix's rant was cut short by a dart from one of the guards offstage. He'd made no move against Gabriel, but apparently they'd grown tired of listening to him.

Henley shook her head. Part of her was surprised they'd let him get that far, go on that long. He was right, of course. Most of the Victors, she was sure, would agree with him. But most of them knew better than to say so.

But Felix wasn't 'most of them.' He never had been. And, as frustrating as he was sometimes, Henley had to admit there was a part of her that admired his honesty. He wasn't going to pretend. He wasn't going to put on a smile just because that was what the audience wanted to see. If he was going to die – and he almost certainly was – then he was damn well going to let everyone know what he thought first.

She almost wished they'd let him finish.

* * *

 **Gabriel Pryde  
** **Hunger Games Host**

He wished they'd had the sense to cut Felix off sooner.

Gabriel shook his head as he struggled to find the right words to wrap up the interviews as the guards dragged Felix's limp form from the stage. He was still alive, of course; the dart had been a tranquilizer only. No, they wouldn't make his death that easy.

After a bit of fumbling, Gabriel wrapped up with a hasty, "Well, it seems like we've got an interesting Hunger Games ahead of us. Good night, everyone!" The cameras switched off, and the lights came on in the audience as the curtains closed.

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, frustrated, glaring at one of the guards. "What took you so long?"

The guard shook her head. "President's orders, sir. We weren't supposed to shoot unless he became a threat to your life."

Gabriel stared. "Why?"

It was President Linus who answered, striding onstage with a smile. "Because now the audience knows exactly what they are – the ones who are planning to make things … difficult for us. Shyanne might have gained them a little sympathy with her questions, and Evo … well, Evo's an old man. They might be willing to forgive him for seeming a little … unhinged.

"But Felix – he's the one who could really earn some sympathy from the audience, if he had a mind to. That boy in his Games – Ross – he loved him. Everyone knew it. The crowds are suckers for love stories. All he had to do was play on their sympathies. But he didn't. He couldn't. That's not who he is. He's an angry young man, and, now, that's all they'll see. Anger. Hatred. That's all the districts have for us, and that's why they don't deserve our sympathy." He shook his head.

"And that's the truth."

* * *

" _Because there's no such thing as happy ever after. It's just a lie we tell ourselves because the truth is so hard."_


	26. More Important

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Yep, quick update. Very excited for the Games ... and for a little something I promised myself I could publish once I got to the Games here, so keep an eye out for that very shortly.

Just a friendly reminder to vote in the "final eight" poll, which is now up on my profile.

* * *

 **More Important**

* * *

 **Aelin Kuang, 60  
** **District One**

It felt just like last time.

Aelin smiled warmly as she settled onto the couch next to Hadrian, with Genesis and Jay seated in chairs nearby. It all felt so familiar now. The lights, the outfits, the applause. Even the butterflies in her stomach now that the moment was almost here. It was almost time.

But not quite yet. There was still a good night's sleep between her and the arena. Other tributes, she knew, usually had difficulty sleeping before the Games. Even mentors usually stayed up most of the night, worrying. But she had never seen the point. There was nothing they could do now – nothing except make sure they were as rested as possible when they entered the arena.

The arena. The thought made her smile, even now. Even now that the Games were tomorrow, she felt nothing but anticipation. What would it be like this year? Amber always planned such wonderful arenas. What did she have in store for them this time?

She couldn't wait to find out.

* * *

 **Demetrius Ashworth, 37  
** **District Two**

Everything was so different this time.

Demetrius paced back and forth across the room while Avery sat, watching him curiously. Freya had already retreated to her room, and Sherman, as well, had gone to bed. Maybe they had the right idea. But he had never been able to sleep well before the Games. And this year…

This year was different. Everything was different. Last time, he and the other Careers had gone into the Games with a solid plan. They had known exactly what to do during the bloodbath, exactly who to target, exactly who they could trust. Now he wasn't so sure. Wasn't sure what to do. Who to target. Who to kill.

Because every time he tried to picture himself killing one of them – one of the other Victors – he found some small reason not to. Some reason why they might be useful later. Some reason why another tribute would be a better target. There was no right answer, and, in the end, it all came down to one reason.

There was no one he _wanted_ to kill.

* * *

 **Euclid Hoover, 32  
** **District Three**

This was even worse than last time.

Euclid sat quietly on his bed, trying to hold back the tears, fiddling uncontrollably with the blankets, wringing them into one odd shape, and then another. Last time, he had been afraid, yes. But he hadn't really had any idea what to expect. He had been afraid, but it had been a vague, unknown terror.

This time, the fear was different. It was just so … so _real_. He knew each and every one of the tributes this time. Maybe not their names, but their faces. He knew each of the people who might be hunting him in the arena. Each of the people who might kill him.

Euclid wiped the tears from his eyes, but more quickly took their place. It wasn't fair. Maybe he didn't have as much to come back to as the other tributes. Maybe he didn't have a wife, or children, or even many friends. But he had a life. And it was his. Maybe it didn't mean much to anyone else, but it was everything to him.

It was all he had left.

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 21  
** **District Four**

At least this was better than last time.

Cedra did her best to smile as she hugged Galen good night. He held her tightly for a moment before letting go, and part of her wished he wouldn't. They weren't allies. They weren't even friends – not really. But it was so comforting to have someone beside her, if only for a little while.

Finally, though, they headed for their rooms, and Cedra closed the door behind her. She had never felt so alone. But maybe alone wasn't as bad as it seemed. She'd had a whole pack of allies at the start of the Games last time, and had ended up fleeing from them. This time, she only had one ally. An ally she was certain she could trust.

Cedra shook her head. She wasn't sure, exactly, why she was so confident, so certain that she could trust Freya. But she did. And, at last, she had realized that she would rather have one ally she could trust than four or five allies who could turn on her at any moment. This time, she wouldn't be going into the Games terrified of being kicked out of the pack. She was going into the Games in as good a position as she could be.

She just hoped that would be enough.

* * *

 **Shyanne James, 19  
** **District Five**

She didn't know what she was doing this time.

Shyanne slowly opened her door and glanced out of her room. Audric had gone to bed, but Valion was still sitting in one of the chairs, his eyes closed, his breathing rhythmic and soothing. As quietly as she could, trying not to wake him, Shyanne crept into the kitchen. She'd been trying to sleep, but, failing that, she might as well eat something. It couldn't hurt to have a full stomach before the Games.

As soon as she reached for the plate of cookies that still sat on the counter, however, Valion opened his eyes. "I'm sorry," Shyanne quickly apologized. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Valion shook his head. "Wasn't asleep. Can't sleep before the Games even when I'm mentoring. And now … well, I'll be lucky if I can keep my eyes open tomorrow."

Shyanne giggled a little. "Me, too."

Valion smiled. "So why don't you bring those cookies over here?"

* * *

 **Evo Ortega, 59  
** **District Six**

He knew exactly what he was doing this time.

Evo settled into his bed with a smile on his face. He hadn't been sure that Felix and Shyanne were as committed to their plan as he was, but, after their performance during the interviews, he was finally certain. The three of them were a team. There was no turning back from that now.

Not that he wanted to. He was going to make the Games as difficult as possible for the Gamemakers. And they were going to kill him for it. There was no stopping that. And maybe, in a way, he had made his peace with it.

Peace. Evo smiled a little at the thought. He had never really understood what the word meant. Even before the Games, his life hadn't exactly been peaceful. And ever since the Games, he had been so consumed by anger and regret that, even when he hadn't been fighting, it had seemed like there was a war going on. But now … now there was only one more fight. Only one more battle.

And he already knew it was one he wouldn't win.

* * *

 **Hatchet Ford, 77  
** **District Seven**

She didn't remember being so nervous last time.

Hatchet did her best to smile as she, Clark, Benton, and Winnow settled down on the couches outside their rooms, sharing a last round of drinks before bed. Hatchet took a few more sips. She had been hoping the drinks might calm her nerves. But, so far, they had done nothing.

Of course they hadn't. Tomorrow, she would be fighting for her life. There was no drink that was strong enough to overcome that sort of fear. But maybe that was a good thing. After all, it was the people who _weren't_ afraid – the ones who charged blindly into a fight because they didn't have the sense to be scared – who ended up dying first.

She had never been one of those tributes. During her own Games, she had fled the bloodbath immediately. But that wasn't the plan this time. Couldn't be the plan. This time, she was working with a pack of Careers. She would have to stand her ground alongside them, and follow their plan.

She just hoped their plan didn't get her killed.

* * *

 **Maximus Kellen, 52  
** **District Eight**

He had been much more nervous last time.

Maximus shook his head as he changed out of his interview outfit, donning a warm nightgown and a pair of soft, fuzzy slippers. He almost laughed at the ridiculous outfit, but it was what the Capitol had provided. Maybe it was supposed to be comforting. Or maybe they thought it was the latest fashion.

In any case, there was no one to see him now. Chuckling a little, he flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the strangely painted ceiling, waiting for sleep to come. It sometimes took a while, but it always came. No matter what had happened during the day, no matter what might happen tomorrow, weariness always won, in the end. There was no point in trying to hurry it – or in trying to fight it.

And maybe that was why he didn't feel as nervous. This time, he wasn't fighting the idea of the Games. Trying to concoct some way in which he might escape what tomorrow would bring. Tomorrow, he would be in the arena. There was no way to stop it. And no point in trying.

All he had to do was wait.

* * *

 **Ebony Kracov, 19  
** **District Nine**

She felt much more alone this time.

Ebony tried her best to smile as she headed for her room, bidding Aras, Charlie, and Barric good night. Aras grinned broadly, giving her a playful wave as she disappeared behind the door. Ebony closed the door quickly, and her smile disappeared, quickly replaced by her fear, anxiety, and even loneliness.

It had been so long since she'd truly felt lonely. Even with her parents gone, she'd always had her sister. But now there was no one there – no one who could help her, at least. Yes, she had an ally, but alliances in the Games … they couldn't last forever. The last time she had felt this lonely was…

Ebony collapsed onto the bed, trying not to think about that. The last time she had felt this alone was right after her allies had died. Right after she had killed them. Ebony clenched her fists. She had gotten through that. And she could get through this.

But she would have to get through it alone.

* * *

 **Gareth Arch, 37  
** **District Ten**

He had felt much more alone last time.

Gareth glanced around at Irina, Robben, and Aramanth as the four of them sat around the table, sharing a few last desserts. It was getting late, but none of them wanted to be the one to say that maybe it was time. Time to go to bed. Time to get ready for tomorrow.

Tomorrow. For the first time, Gareth felt truly ready for what the morning might bring. Last time, he'd had an ally, and they'd had something of a plan. But this time, he was much more prepared. He had two allies, one of whom he knew very well. They had a plan. Maybe not a detailed plan, but a plan, nonetheless. He was as ready as he could be.

Of course, he knew better than to rely on that plan, to think that it would truly hold up in the arena. No plan was airtight once the Games began. Their plan would have to be altered, but the important thing was that he was finally starting to believe that the three of them might actually survive long enough to alter it.

And that was a comforting thought.

* * *

 **Jani Aramine, 32  
** **District Eleven**

He was even more afraid this time.

Jani paced the full length of his room back and forth, well into the night. He always had difficulty sleeping before the Games, but this – this was different. He hadn't been this afraid since his first Games. In fact, if anything, the fear was even worse this time. This time, the other tributes would know better than to ignore him. This time, he would have to fight.

But maybe not tomorrow. No, not yet. He, Galen, and Aras had no intention of plunging into the bloodbath. They would do their best to stay away from the fighting. But how long would it be before the fighting found them?

Jani shook his head. _Breathe. Just breathe._ He needed to sleep. He needed to make sure he was rested and ready for tomorrow. But, every time he tried to lie down, the fear woke him again. Just a little more walking, maybe, and he would be tired enough to finally sleep.

Just a little more.

* * *

 **Silvesta Ardin, 47  
** **District Twelve**

She wasn't nearly as afraid this time.

Silvesta smiled a little as she lay down in her bed, and sleep began to slowly creep its way over her. Felix had already been taken to bed, though he would likely be awake again as soon as the effects of the tranquilizer wore off. Henley and Moira had gone to bed, as well. There was nothing more they could do tonight.

And, for Henley and Moira, she knew, there would be nothing they could do in the morning. Once she was in the arena, it was up to her to survive. She wasn't kidding herself. There was no chance of District Twelve receiving any sponsors – not after Felix's outburst during the interviews. She was on her own.

But she wasn't entirely alone. Valion would be with her in the arena, and, for now, that was enough to ease her fears. He was clearly willing to go along with the Games, but he didn't seem eager to charge into the fighting. Hopefully, they would be able to avoid the worst of it for a while, at least.

But they both knew that wouldn't last forever.

* * *

 **Amber Lionetti  
** **Head Gamemaker**

Nothing had changed this time.

Amber leaned back in her chair, watching as her fellow Gamemakers checked and rechecked a number of systems, making sure everything was ready for the Games. Amber smiled a little. Until now, it hadn't quite felt real. But now that the Capitol festivities had drawn to a close, everything was becoming more familiar.

Because, in the end, it was just another year. Another Games. The fact that her tributes this year were Victors – maybe it wasn't all that important. It wasn't her job to worry about who the tributes were. Her job was to give the audience a good show – just like any other year.

Amber watched silently as the members of the night shift slowly trickled in to take their places. Tonight would be quiet – the last quiet night they would have for a while. Tomorrow, the everything was going to change. Everything and nothing. Amber smiled as she headed for her room.

Everything was going perfectly.

* * *

" _I had to face my fear ... that was more important than just going on living."_


	27. Human Beings

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** We're finally here! I'm so excited! Just a few things before we get started.

First, tributes will start dying this chapter. I'd apologize, but ... well, that's what you submitted them for. You knew the odds when you submitted, and although no one wants to see their tribute die in the bloodbath, some of them have to go here. I'm sorry to see them go, but ... oh, who am I kidding? I enjoy writing these things. I enjoy killing tributes. That's why I keep doing this. And bloodbaths are always fun.

Second, just a reminder to vote in the "final eight" poll if you haven't already. It'll be up until the next chapter, at which point it'll be replaced by a poll asking who you _want_ to see in the final eight.

Lastly ... I have another SYOT open! It's an X-Men crossover taking place in present-ish day, with all sorts of fun mutant powers. Head over to my profile (after you're done reading this, of course) for the rules and tribute form, and keep sending me tributes. (And please don't be scared away if you're not at all familiar with the X-Men. It'll still make sense.)

And that's it. Without any further ado, let the 75th Annual Hunger Games begin!

* * *

 **Human Beings**

* * *

 **Gabriel Pryde  
** **Hunger Games Host**

He always liked being surprised.

Gabriel watched the screen in anticipation, grateful that no one had slipped this year and accidentally told him what the arena would be. Sometimes they did. Most of the time, though, they remembered. He enjoyed the suspense as much as any other Capitolite. Maybe even more so.

After a few words of introduction, Gabriel quickly turned the attention of the audience to the screen, which showed a few of the tributes rising in their glass cylinders. Each tribute wore a dark blue, skin-tight, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black leggings that clung tightly to their limbs. Thin, black belts circled their waists. Looking down, however, Gabriel realized that the tributes were barefoot.

Interesting.

As the twenty-four of them rose into the arena, it took Gabriel's eyes a while to adjust – and theirs, too, he suspected. The arena was unusually dark, and it took Gabriel a moment to realize why. They were underground, in some sort of cave. The only light came from the rocks along the walls. In the cavern surrounding the cornucopia, they glowed a light, almost sickly green.

Three passageways led away from the cornucopia – one glowing a faint red, one a dim yellow, and the other a pale blue. The tributes all glanced around, getting their bearings, as the clock began to count down.

 _Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight._

Near the blue passageway, Euclid glanced around frantically, his trembling visible even in the dark. Gabriel could only hope his shaking wouldn't be enough to trigger the mine beneath his pedestal. To Euclid's left, Freya was trying to appear confident, her eyes darting towards the cornucopia. It was clear, though, that it wasn't the weapons she was eyeing; she was looking for an ally. But where was she?

Beside Freya, Demetrius' gaze darted back and forth between Hadrian – only two spots to his left – and the weapons in the mouth of the cornucopia. Maybe he was wondering who would be able to reach them first. He probably had the edge as far as speed went, but Hadrian had more allies…

Between the two Careers, Wisteria glanced towards the nearest exit – the one that was glowing blue – leaving no doubt about where she meant to go. Hadrian was searching for his allies, all the while keeping an eye on both Demetrius and the cornucopia.

 _Fifty-one. Fifty. Forty nine._

Aras breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted both Jani and Galen – Jani five tributes to his left, Galen six to his right. Not the best situation to be in, but certainly not the worst. They could probably reach each other before any of the others got to the cornucopia and decided to come after them.

Cadaya, too, was quite relieved to find her ally close by; Ebony was only two tributes to her left. Between them, Evo gave a quiet 'humph.' Shyanne and Felix were on the other side of the cornucopia. Ebony shot a glance at Cadaya, gesturing towards the nearest passageway, glowing red behind them. Cadaya nodded, confirming Ebony's assumption: their best bet was to run.

 _Forty-three. Forty-two. Forty-one._

Camryn, however, didn't look ready to run – at least, not in that direction. She was scouring the nearby tributes for her ally, but, not finding her, nodded, concluding that she was on the other side of the cornucopia. But which of them would have to make their way to the other side?

Jani found Aras' gaze, and Aras pointed to his right – past the cornucopia. Was that where Galen was? It must be. Jani nodded. It was obvious which way he had to go, if he wanted to stay with his allies.

To Jani's left, Aelin was eyeing the cornucopia, but had also found two of her allies – Maximus, three tributes to her left, and Clark, three tributes beyond him. She smiled encouragingly. Almost giddily.

 _Thirty-five. Thirty-four. Thirty-three._

Cedra didn't look nearly as happy; her only ally was on the complete opposite side of the cornucopia. Cedra's gaze flitted from Aelin on one side to Irina on the other. Her only comfort was that both of them would probably be racing towards the cornucopia, rather than towards her.

Irina, certainly, didn't seem interested in Cedra – only in the weapons that lay near the cornucopia. Beside her, Maximus was eyeing the weapons, as well, nodding at Aelin and Clark in turn.

To Maximus' left, Shyanne had already found Felix, five tributes to her left. But her gaze strayed to Valion, who stood on Felix's right. Felix was nodding towards the yellow passageway, almost directly between them. Shyanne nodded back.

 _Twenty-six. Twenty-five. Twenty-four._

Gareth gave Irina a nod as she finally glanced in his direction. Demetrius was nowhere in sight, but he could take care of himself. And as long as the two of them stuck together, they would be fine. Probably.

Clark took a deep breath, clearly bracing himself to run as the numbers continued to count down. He could see Aelin, Maximus, and even Hatchet, six tributes to his left. Hadrian was on the other side of the cornucopia, then. Clark nodded, keeping his eye on Hatchet. Aelin and Maximus could take care of themselves. But Hatchet…

Silvesta did her best to smile at Valion, who stood directly beside her, with the yellow passageway situated perfectly behind them. Not bad. Valion nodded back, but his eyes were fixed on Shyanne.

 _Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen._

Felix was already fidgeting, ready to run – exactly _where_ wasn't clear from his stance, however. Ira, too, was preparing; she had been gently, quietly removing her belt, and now held it in her hands, ready to strike.

 _Nine. Eight. Seven._

Beside Ira, Hatchet was beginning to look increasingly nervous. Her gaze found Clark's, hoping. Hoping that he would help, perhaps – or maybe just that he would be able to reach her in time. Hadrian was just as nearby on the other side, but his gaze was fixed on the cornucopia. She wouldn't be getting any help from him.

Galen was smiling, satisfied, as he surveyed the arena. As the final seconds ticked down, he found Aras' gaze and gave him a playful wink. Aras smiled back, and flashed a thumbs-up sign.

 _Three. Two. One._

* * *

 **Ira Hope, 36  
** **District Eleven**

She already had the only weapon she needed.

Ira tensed as the clock counted down the last few seconds. Her grip tightened on the belt in her hands as she eyed her competition. Potential targets. But the truth was she had already decided. She and Camryn had agreed – they needed to start the Games with a splash. They needed to be noticed, and they needed to do it fast.

Ideally, they also needed to do it together. But she couldn't see Camryn; she was probably on the opposite side of the cornucopia. By the time the two of them could reach each other, the other tributes – including the Careers – would have their weapons. And she had no desire to face an armed Career.

But an unarmed one … especially one who wasn't actually a Career – _that_ she could handle.

 _Three. Two. One._ The gong rang, and Ira sprang into action. Immediately, she darted to her left, towards Hatchet. Hatchet tried to dodge, but Ira was too quick. Too young. Too agile. Almost immediately, the pair of them were on the ground, and Ira quickly slipped her belt around Hatchet's neck.

Ira clenched her teeth as the old woman struggled, wriggling beneath her, trying to get free as the belt tightened. She just had to hold on a little longer. Just a little more, and she would have her first kill in years. As much as she didn't want to admit it, it almost felt good…

Just as Hatchet's flailing was beginning to slow, however, something struck Ira her from behind. Ira whirled around, fighting to keep her grip on her belt as a fist connected with her head again. Clark. Of course. She had expected him to come after his ally, of course, but she hadn't expected him to be so _fast_.

Why couldn't her own ally be this quick?

* * *

 **Clark Tierney, 23  
** **District Seven**

He hadn't expected her to be so quick.

Clark clenched his jaw tightly as he grabbed at Ira's arms, wrestling her away from Hatchet. He had seen her eyeing Hatchet, of course – no one could have missed it – but he hadn't expected her to be so _fast_. He'd been hoping to be able to grab a weapon before Hatchet would need him.

But he hadn't had the chance, so he would have to rely on his own strength. His fist found Ira's face once more, and she finally released the belt. Hatchet's hands flew to her neck, fighting to free herself as Clark and Ira rolled on the ground, trading punches.

He was stronger, but Ira was quicker, and managed to wriggle from his grasp and get to her feet. Clark half-expected her to run – and part of him wished she would – but, instead, she threw herself at Hatchet again, maybe hoping to at least be able to retrieve her weapon. But Hatchet rolled out of the way, and Clark dealt a kick to Ira's chest as she struggled to her feet once more.

The second kick, however, she caught, gripping his bare foot tightly, pulling him to the ground again. A fist connected with his head, and he could taste blood in his mouth. Ira was quicker than she looked. Clark dodged the next blow, grabbing at her arm as he did, his right hand closing around her wrist as his left hand flailed, hoping to find her throat.

But her arms were longer, and her free hand quickly wrapped around his neck, slamming his head against the rocky ground. Clark gasped, choking, as Ira pressed harder. His hands gripped her wrists, but it was getting harder to think. Harder to breathe. The back of his head was damp with blood. Everything was starting to get blurry.

Just as he was beginning to black out, however, Ira released him, her hands pulling away from his neck with a jolt. In the dim light, it took Clark a moment to realize why, to see the blood flowing from her head, to see the club that came down once more, striking her skull with a crack as a cannon sounded.

Clark sputtered, struggling for breath, still fighting the pain in the back of his head as a hand reached down to help him up. Maximus. Beside him, Hatchet was climbing to her feet, as well, rubbing her neck, breathing hard. Maximus gripped his club, pulling Clark in the direction of the cornucopia.

There was still work to do.

* * *

 **Camryn Cartier, 34  
** **District Six**

There was nothing she could do.

Camryn stared, helpless, as Ira's body crumpled to the ground. There was nothing she could do now. Nothing she could have done. As soon as she had realized where Ira was, and what she was doing, she had started racing towards her. But she hadn't been fast enough.

She never seemed to be fast enough.

But now she had to move quickly, because, trying to reach Ira in time, she had almost reached the cornucopia. Around her, bodies were racing – some towards the cornucopia, some away. And one – one was coming right for her.

As quickly as she could, Camryn reached down, swiping the first weapon she saw – a dagger. It was small, but, hopefully, it would be enough for her to defend herself. Because her attacker didn't show any signs of slowing down.

Her attacker. Camryn could barely wrap her mind around the word. Irina. Irina was running towards her, a short, thin sword in one hand, a knife in the other. Camryn glanced around. Should she run? Should she stand her ground? Should she—

But Irina's speed didn't leave her much of a choice. Even as Camryn raised her dagger to defend herself, the knife in Irina's hand came flying. Camryn dodged in time, but, in that moment, Irina struck with her sword. Camryn managed to dodge the blow, but the second blow found her side, drawing blood. Camryn clenched her teeth tightly. She wasn't going to scream. She wasn't going to run.

She was going to fight.

As Irina swung again, Camryn dodged, then struck with her own weapon. Irina dodged the first blow easily, then blocked the second. Irina ducked beneath the third blow, swiping her knife from the ground and hurling it away just as quickly. Camryn gasped, staggering backwards as the knife buried itself in her chest.

But Irina didn't see what she saw.

* * *

 **Irina Cavell, 32  
** **District Ten**

She didn't see him until it was too late.

Irina spun as she heard the footsteps nearing her, but she was too late to block or even dodge Evo's mace, which swung full-force into her side. Irina crumpled, hitting the cave floor hard as Evo swung again. This time, she managed to dodge, striking at his legs with her own sword. Evo cried out in pain as her blade sliced across the back of his legs, bringing him down beside her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Irina could see Camryn running towards the red passageway. But she couldn't worry about that now. Now she had to get up. She had to…

Irina clenched her teeth, fighting her way to her knees, clutching her side. She had been stupid to go after Camryn in the first place. Camryn hadn't been their alliance's target – certainly not their first choice, anyway. She had simply been in the way. She had been so close, Irina had thought she could kill her quickly before moving on to the next fight.

But now the next fight was survival, because before she could get to her feet, Evo grasped at her legs, clutching her tightly, holding her down. Irina kicked, but the old man was stronger than he looked – or perhaps more desperate. But why? Why did he want to kill her?

Maybe he didn't. Maybe he had attacked her for the same reason she had attacked Camryn – because she was there. She had been in the wrong place, at the very wrong time. Maybe he had been trying to save his district partner, despite the fact that they weren't allies.

Maybe it didn't matter why. Irina swung her sword in Evo's direction, striking blindly from her awkward position on the ground. Apparently, she hit something, because he let go.

Just then, a cannon sounded. Irina struggled free from Evo's grasp. The cannon hadn't been hers. So—

Then she saw Aelin, standing behind Evo – or, more precisely, Evo's body – wrenching her spear from the old man's back. Irina barely had time to fall to the ground again, rolling out of the way as the spear came hurtling towards her.

But she didn't have time to stand up.

* * *

 **Aelin Kuang, 60  
** **District One**

Irina didn't even have time to get to her feet.

As soon as her spear left her hand, Aelin reached down, swiping Evo's mace from his rigid hands, swinging as hard as she could. Expecting a blow to her chest, Irina rolled out of the way, but Aelin wasn't aiming for her chest. The mace came down hard against Irina's leg. Irina cried out in pain as Aelin reached for her spear.

Irina tried to stand, but she couldn't. She tried to strike out with her own sword as the spear struck, but the spear was longer. As her spear plunged into Irina's chest, Aelin met her fellow Victor's gaze. Even now, there was no fear in her eyes.

But that hadn't been enough to save her.

Aelin drew her spear back, yanking it out of Irina's chest. Irina's body fell to the rocky ground, blood gushing from her chest as her cannon sounded. Aelin clutched her spear tightly, glancing around. Camryn had already fled down the nearby red passageway. She could see Shyanne and Felix, racing towards the yellow one. Aelin shook her head. She wouldn't be fast enough to catch them.

But she had already done enough. She had already made her mark on the bloodbath. Two kills – that was certainly enough to convince the audience that she still had what it took.

It had certainly been enough to convince herself.

* * *

 **Hadrian Xiao, 49  
** **District One**

He wished he could convince himself he was ready for this.

Hadrian rushed towards the cornucopia as soon as the gong sounded, keeping a close eye on Demetrius, who was running just a little bit faster, would reach the cornucopia just a little bit sooner. Hadrian clenched his teeth. A few knives were scattered along the ground on the way to the cornucopia. Maybe…

He didn't have time to think. He reached down, scooped up one of the knives, and flung it in Demetrius' direction. The knife only grazed Demetrius' shoulder, but it was enough to make him turn, enough to make him slow down a little. Hadrian sprinted forward as quickly as he could, catching up to Demetrius as the pair of them reached the cornucopia.

Hadrian immediately grabbed the first weapon he saw – a large broadsword – just in time to dodge a swing from the double-bladed axe Demetrius had chosen. Hadrian took a few steps backwards, away from the cornucopia. Away from the fight. In the dim light of the cave, he glanced around, searching for his allies. Clark and Hatchet were fighting Ira, and Maximus was racing towards them. Aelin had grabbed a spear and was rushing towards Irina. No one was coming to help him.

Hadrian took another step away from Demetrius' next blow. This wasn't a fight he wanted. This wasn't even a fight he was sure he could win. Hadrian clenched his teeth as Demetrius swung again and the first cannon sounded. _You have your weapon. Just take your allies and go._

But he didn't. Reluctantly, Hadrian swung his sword, taking another step back as Demetrius swung. Then another. He knew what Demetrius was doing. Driving him away from the fight. Away from his allies.

He had to do something.

Hadrian took a deep breath, braced himself, then ducked beneath Demetrius' next swing, swiping at the younger Victor's legs. Demetrius stepped aside, but not quickly enough to avoid Hadrian's blow entirely. Blood dripped down his leg from a cut across his thigh. And now the two had switched places – Hadrian closest to the cornucopia, Demetrius on the outside. Hadrian clenched his teeth. If Demetrius wanted to continue the fight, he would have to come to Hadrian.

But was it a fight he really wanted to continue?

* * *

 **Demetrius Ashworth, 37  
** **District Two**

Was this a fight he really wanted?

Demetrius gripped his axe tightly, fighting the pain in his right leg as he strode towards Hadrian once more. It wasn't a matter of what he wanted. The audience was expecting a fight. A showdown between the two Career alliances. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Irina fighting Evo, and Aelin headed in their direction. If he left his fight with Hadrian now, and Hadrian joined the fight against Irina, his ally was as good as dead.

So he charged, swinging his axe with all his strength. Hadrian ducked, dodged, and did his best to avoid swinging his own weapon. Was he tiring already? Or did he simply not want to fight?

Demetrius had to admit, his own arms were getting tired. The axe was heavier than it looked. A cannon sounded, and then another. Demetrius wanted to look around. To see where Irina and Gareth were. But he didn't dare take his eyes off Hadrian.

"Demetrius!" A shout answered one of his questions, and, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gareth running towards him. But, in that instant, Hadrian finally decided to strike, swinging his sword with surprising speed. Before Demetrius could react, the blade had sliced deep into his left arm. Demetrius staggered backwards, startled, as Hadrian finally charged.

Maybe he had realized that he couldn't fight both Gareth and Demetrius – that he would have to kill Demetrius first in order to have any chance of defending himself. Whatever the reason, Demetrius suddenly found himself blocking Hadrian's blows. One blow and then another landed on his axe. Blood dripped from the wound in his arm. He could feel himself slowing.

But it wasn't enough. Hadrian, who had been keeping an eye on both Demetrius and Gareth, still wasn't ready when Gareth reached them, a backpack slung over his shoulder, a cleaver in one hand and a rapier in the other. The cleaver came flying, and Hadrian couldn't dodge in time. The weapon buried itself in his side as Demetrius closed in for the kill.

Even as he did, Hadrian struck out one more time, but this time, his sword found only air as he slumped to the ground, blood flowing from his side. Demetrius' axe came down hard, and Hadrian's cannon sounded as the weapon crashed into his skull, spewing blood across the cave floor. Demetrius quickly snatched up Hadrian's sword and followed Gareth as he ran for the nearest passageway, which was glowing a faint yellow.

He didn't dare look back.

* * *

 **Gareth Arch, 37  
** **District Ten**

He knew he couldn't look back.

Gareth panted as he struggled to keep pace with Demetrius, who, despite the blood dripping from his arm and leg, was racing down the tunnel with all his strength. Demetrius didn't ask what had happened to Irina. Gareth didn't answer. He didn't even want to think about it.

He hadn't been quick enough to help her. He had barely grabbed a backpack and a weapon when he had heard her scream. He had turned in time to see Aelin pull her spear from his ally's chest. And, just like that, his ally, his district partner, his friend, was dead.

But he couldn't think about that now. Couldn't worry about that. He and Demetrius had to get away. It was only a matter of time before Aelin and the rest of the Careers came after them. They were the obvious targets. Irina was dead. Demetrius was injured. Their alliance could scarcely be in worse shape.

But he was still alive. He was uninjured. That was the important thing, he reminded himself as they ran. He was alive. And he meant to stay that way.

Suddenly, the passageway split in two. To the left, the cave walls glowed the same green color as the walls by the cornucopia had. To the right, they remained a pale yellow. Gareth glanced at Demetrius, who nodded towards the left. Exactly why he had chosen that path, Gareth wasn't sure. And, right now, he didn't care. He simply ran.

Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet grew wetter. Gareth slowed to a halt. Water. Had they really gotten lucky enough to find water this soon? Sure enough, the water deepened, quickly becoming a shallow lake in the middle of a larger cavern. Maybe things weren't going to be so bad…

"Demetrius!" The shout caught both of them off-guard. Two shapes stepped forward out of the shadows on the other side of the lake.

Gareth turned to run, but Demetrius grasped his shoulder. "Wait." Sure enough, the two tributes didn't seem to have any weapons. As they stepped forward hesitantly, Gareth could see that the shapes belonged to Freya and Cedra.

For a moment, they sized each other up. Gareth knew they were all thinking. Considering. Demetrius was injured, but the two women were unarmed. They could fight. He and Demetrius would probably win. Probably…

But, instead, Demetrius shifted the weapons in his hands, holding the sword out to Freya. "Welcome back to the Career pack."

Freya hesitated, but then accepted the weapon. Cedra stepped forward, and Gareth handed her the rapier he had taken from the cornucopia, still grasping the cleaver he had chosen for himself. He removed his backpack, letting it fall to the damp ground beside them as he knelt down to open it.

Maybe things would work out, after all.

* * *

 **Shyanne James, 19  
** **District Five**

Nothing was working out the way she'd expected.

Shyanne grasped Felix's hand tightly as the pair of them ran through the tunnel, which was glowing yellow. As soon as Aelin had killed Evo, they had run. They hadn't been close enough to help. They hadn't been close enough for her to do anything but grab a small bag – no larger than a purse – as they fled.

But they were still alive. And they were still running. They had come to a fork in the tunnel a while ago, and had turned right, staying on the yellow path. At the second fork – red to the left, yellow to the right – they had done the same, and Shyanne had thought, for a moment, that she had seen two tributes running the same way. She had thought – or maybe only hoped – that one of them was Valion.

But she had said nothing. Felix didn't seem to be in the mood for talking. He had wanted to help Evo – or perhaps avenge him – that much had been clear. But she had grabbed his hand and dragged him away. She had already shut Valion out. She had stood by and done nothing as Evo had been killed. She wasn't going to lose Felix, too.

Finally, the pair slowed a little bit, and Felix wrenched his hand free from Shyanne's grasp, stooping down to pick up something from the ground. Looking closer, Shyanne could see that it was a rock, about the size of his fist. As the two slowed to a walk, Felix kept glancing back and forth, as if studying the cave walls.

Suddenly, he struck one of the walls. Shyanne nearly jumped, thinking that perhaps someone had been hiding in the shadows. But there was no one there. Just the stone wall of the passageway. What was Felix doing?

But as a soft clicking noise came from the wall, she got her answer. He had found one of the Gamemakers' cameras and was smashing it to bits. Shyanne finally allowed herself a small smile. _We stay alive. We stay together. And we give 'em hell – for as long as we can._ That had been Evo's response when she had asked what the plan was, now that Rufus was dead.

They weren't all alive. Only she and Felix were together. And smashing one camera out of what was probably hundreds didn't really qualify as giving the Gamemakers hell. More of a slight nuisance, if anything. But still…

Shyanne picked up a rock and glanced around as they walked, searching for another camera. As soon as she spotted one, she struck it immediately. It felt good. It felt good to be _doing_ something. To be _able_ to do something – anything – that might annoy the Gamemakers, even a little.

She just hoped it would be worth it.

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

He just hoped they would continue to get lucky.

Galen smiled as he, Aras, and Jani stopped to catch their breath. Immediately after finding each other in the chaos of the bloodbath, the three of them had made a beeline for the blue passageway. Whether the others were too busy to notice them or simply didn't consider them enough of a threat to bother with, he wasn't sure. And maybe it wasn't important. The important thing was that they were alive – all three of them.

And, for the moment, they were probably safe. The only other tributes he had seen heading in this direction had been Euclid and Wisteria, but the two of them had been pretty far ahead of their group.

Galen smiled as he eyed his allies. Maybe they weren't the quickest group in the arena, but they'd had an advantage. They'd had at least a guess at what the arena might be like.

It was Amari, really, who had figured it out when she had seen Hadrian and Galen's low training scores. When Aras had scored similarly low, her theory seemed to have been confirmed. They had scored low not because of their skills, or because of their age, but because of the weapons they had chosen to demonstrate.

Weapons which were all but useless here. Here, underground, with the cavern's low ceilings and tight corners, their archery skills would be of little use. There were too many twists and turns, too many narrow passages. Once one of the other tributes was actually in sight, there would be only seconds between the moment where he could shoot and the moment when the other tribute would reach him, anyway.

So he hadn't bothered to grab a bow. He wasn't even sure if there had been one. Only Jani, racing across the cavern to reach the two of them, had retrieved anything from the cornucopia. He'd managed to swipe a coil of rope and a small knife that had been near the edge before rushing over to join them.

Galen smiled, clapping Jani on the back as the three of them started walking again. They still had the most important thing – each other. They were all alive. They were all uninjured. None of the cannons so far had been theirs.

And, for now, that was enough.

* * *

 **Maximus Kellen, 52  
** **District Eight**

For now, he had proven himself.

Maximus leaned back against the cornucopia, content, as he, Clark, Hatchet, and Aelin surveyed the room in the pale green light, searching for anyone who hadn't had the sense to flee yet. He couldn't see anyone else, but that was perfectly fine with him. He'd done quite enough already. He had saved Clark's life. He had killed Ira. And he was still alive – and completely uninjured.

Not bad at all.

Aelin, too, had seemed quite pleased with the way things were going – until she had seen Hadrian's body, lying lifeless off to one side of the cornucopia. That had put quite a damper on her mood. Not that he blamed her much for that. She and Hadrian had been close. Not just allies, not just district partners. They had been friends.

Maximus shook his head. Just one more reason why friends were something he couldn't afford to have. Not now, at least. He had saved Clark, yes, but not because he considered the boy a friend. Not really. He was a valuable member of the alliance – nothing more.

Hatchet, for her part, had quickly found some bandages among the cornucopia's supplies, and was tending to the back of Clark's head, which had been bleeding since Ira had slammed it against the rocky floor of the cavern. Hatchet had a few bruises around her neck, but nothing substantial. Both Maximus and Aelin were completely unharmed.

But Hadrian was dead.

Maximus took a deep breath and busied himself with collecting the supplies into a more manageable pile inside the cornucopia. There was nothing he could do about that now. Nothing he could have done to save Hadrian. As it was, he had done plenty. He had made a kill, which was more than most of his allies could say. Yes, Aelin had made two, but she was a Career. That was what was expected. Who would have expected a fifty-two-year-old Victor from District Eight to earn one of the only other kills during the bloodbath?

He had certainly earned his place in the pack.

* * *

 **Ebony Kracov, 19  
** **District Nine**

She certainly hadn't expected everything to start this quickly.

Ebony gripped Cadaya's hand tightly as the pair of them continued down the red passageway. She had known better, of course, than to think that the other Victors simply wouldn't fight. And, if she was being honest, she wasn't sure exactly what she _had_ been expecting.

Just not this.

The others hadn't even hesitated. They had rushed at the cornucopia, just like any other year. They had fought, just like any other year. They had killed.

But maybe not as much as any other year. There had only been four cannons so far, and it had been a while since the last one. That probably meant that the bloodbath, such as it was, was over. Four tributes dead – certainly fewer than a normal year.

But it was different this year. It wasn't four teenagers – four tributes whose names she barely knew. It was four of her fellow Victors. Four people who might be her friends. Had one of those cannons belonged to Aras? Or maybe Evo and Camryn, who had asked her to join their group? Had one – or maybe even two – of the cannons been theirs?

If she had accepted their offer, would one of the cannons have been hers?

Ebony shook the thought from her head as she and Cadaya continued. It didn't matter what would have happened if she had joined them. She hadn't. And she was alive. That meant she had made the right choice.

Didn't it?

Ebony clutched Cadaya's hand tightly. It wasn't that simple. It never was. But, for now, she was simply glad that she was alive. Grateful that she hadn't made a choice that had led to her death – not yet, at least.

She was still alive.

* * *

 **President Julian Linus**

So many of them were still alive.

Julian leaned back in his chair, watching, wondering if this was what Amber had expected. She had assured him that the Victors would, in fact, fight once the Games began. And he had never doubted that much, at least. But he had expected…

Well, if he was honest, he wasn't exactly sure what he had expected. More fighting, maybe. More blood. More deaths. Four was an exceptionally small bloodbath.

But maybe … well, maybe that was good. Because this year wasn't about satisfying the audience's bloodlust – not really. This year wasn't about how many kills the Careers could rack up during the bloodbath. It wasn't about how quickly the tributes could kill each other. It wasn't about how fast the Games went.

It was all about the emotions. The drama. And, on that account, maybe it was a good thing that there were still twenty tributes left. They would still kill each other. And if it happened a bit more slowly than usual … well, maybe that was to be expected. The important thing, in the end, was that twenty-three of them would die, and only one of them would live.

That much, at least, hadn't changed.

* * *

" _They're human beings, if that's what you mean. Indulging their favorite pastime of trying to destroy each other."_


	28. Companions

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games isn't mine.

 **Note:** Just a little heads-up that I'm going on a family vacation (without internet) and will be back in August. So don't panic when I don't post for a little while; I promise I'll be back.

Results of the final eight poll are up on the website. New poll on my profile, this time asking who you _want_ to see in the final eight. (Again, please do actually vote for _eight_ tributes.) Also, **read the chapter first** because anyone who dies here won't be included in the poll.

* * *

 **Day One  
** **Companions**

* * *

 **Merril Keenbrand  
** **District Six Mentor**

Maybe it was for the best, after all.

Merril shook his head quietly as Ravi poured him another drink. The mentors had gathered in District Two's quarters to watch the Games. Merril wasn't exactly sure why District Two had been chosen, but the tradition had started long before he had begun mentoring. Probably long before he'd been born. And no one seemed likely to change that tradition any time soon.

It was one of the few things they had left.

The pair of them watched silently as the tributes got their bearings, and most of those who had fled tried to put as much distance between themselves and the cornucopia as possible. Camryn, however, hadn't made it far. With a knife buried deep in her chest and blood seeping from the wound, she'd managed to stagger into the red passageway, but she hadn't made it far before collapsing. Now, she was crawling towards a small alcove in the wall, hoping no other tributes were coming the same way.

Fortunately, no one seemed to be. The tributes had scattered in different directions, leaving only four bodies around the cornucopia. Only four. But Evo was one of them. And, unless she got help – and soon – Camryn would soon join him.

But he had given her the best chance he could. His death, hopefully, would be enough to satisfy the Capitol's need for revenge against them. While Evo was alive, no one would consider sponsoring anyone from District Six. But now that he was dead…

Merril swallowed hard, forcing down his drink. It was terrible. But it was true. Evo had never had a chance of making it out of the Games alive. And he had known that. Whether he had meant to save Camryn's life, or whether he had been trying to cause as much trouble as possible, or whether he had simply been trying to reach his allies and had seen an opportunity, Merril wasn't sure. But he was sure that Evo had saved Camryn's life.

But for how long?

* * *

 **Camryn Cartier, 34  
** **District Six**

How long would she be safe here?

Camryn clenched her teeth, trying to steady her breathing, trying not to scream. Trying not to do anything that might draw the attention of anyone else who happened to be nearby. She hadn't seen anyone, but that didn't mean that they weren't there. And she hadn't made it far from the cornucopia. If the Careers learned that she was still nearby…

But so far, there had been no one. No one coming, no one going, no one even making a sound. Camryn closed her eyes. If anyone found a trail of blood and followed it to her, she was dead. If someone happened to stumble across her in the dark, she was dead. If she did nothing and simply bled out, she was dead.

So she had to do something.

Camryn clenched her fists. Okay. Okay. She didn't have much to work with – just the knife that was currently buried in her chest, and her own clothes. But that would have to be enough.

For now, the knife that was lodged in the wound was stopping most of the bleeding. But she couldn't leave it there forever. Camryn took a deep breath and clutched the handle. She would have to be quick.

Very quick.

With one quick burst of searing, biting pain, the knife came out. Immediately, blood began gushing from the wound. Camryn gasped, fighting the pain as she used the knife to tear strip after strip of fabric from her clothes, pressing them against the wound, tying them in place.

By the time she was done, she was exhausted, and her sleeves and pant legs were almost completely gone. But she was alive. And most of the bleeding had stopped. Most of it. But she would still need rest – and plenty of time – in order to recover.

Camryn lay down on the cave floor, tears of pain brimming in her eyes. This wasn't how she had expected the Games to go. Ira was dead. Evo was dead. She had no allies. She was injured and exhausted and too weak to make it any farther from the cornucopia. She had no food, no water, and only a knife for protection. A knife that had almost ended her life.

But she was still alive.

* * *

 **Hatchet Ford, 77  
** **District Seven**

She was still alive.

Hatchet rubbed her neck gingerly, still more than a little frazzled. She was still alive, yes, but she had come so close to dying. If Clark hadn't saved her life…

But he had. Clark had saved her. And Maximus had saved Clark. Maybe the three of them made a pretty good team, after all. But Hadrian was dead. And Aelin had seemed more interested in making a kill or two than in protecting her allies. Had that cost Hadrian his life? Certainly Demetrius would have been hesitant to attack the pair of them together.

Hatchet shook her head. It was easy to judge, easy to second-guess someone else's decisions. Aelin had acted in the moment, just as she, Clark, and Maximus had. It was in her training – or maybe in her blood – to focus on killing before thinking about protecting her allies.

And she was hardly one to judge, Hatchet reminded herself. She hadn't won her own Games by protecting her allies. She had won by killing them – one by one. But she couldn't do the same this time even if she wanted to. If – or _when_ – her allies were gone, she would have no one. She hadn't even been able to defend herself against Ira for more than a few seconds. If Clark hadn't been there, she would have been dead.

But Clark had been there. She was alive. And four of the others were dead. Hatchet watched silently as Maximus dragged the bodies into a pile. Did the Gamemakers have a plan for retrieving the bodies? Or were they simply going to leave them there to rot? They couldn't exactly get the hovercrafts down in the cave tunnels.

Hatchet sighed. That wasn't her problem. And she didn't have much time to think it over, because as soon as Maximus was done with his hauling, he came back to the group with a question. "So … what's the plan?"

The question was clearly directed at Aelin. As the only remaining Career, perhaps she was automatically their leader now. And Hatchet wasn't about to object. It wasn't a position she wanted, even if she'd had a reasonable claim to it – which she didn't. She was the oldest, yes, but that didn't seem to mean much now – for better or worse.

"We should keep our focus on the stronger remaining alliances," Aelin reasoned. Demetrius and Gareth – which way did they go?"

"That way, I think." Clark pointed to the yellow tunnel. "Other than that … I don't know."

"Other than that, it probably doesn't matter much," Maximus offered. "Irina is dead. Evo is dead. That means the only other group of three is Aras, Galen, and Jani. And they're probably just trying to get as far away as possible."

Hatchet bit back a rude comment. He'd said it like running was something bad. Shameful, even. But if she hadn't joined the Careers, she knew, that was exactly what she would have done. And probably what Maximus would have done, as well. Maybe he was trying to impress Aelin – or maybe the Capitol – but his comment still stung.

But there was nothing she could do about it now.

* * *

 **Freya Basnett, 44  
** **District Two**

She couldn't exactly say no now.

Freya held her tongue as she did her best to bandage Demetrius' injuries. She didn't ask what had happened. She didn't ask where Irina was. She and Cedra had run from the bloodbath immediately, but she knew the answers nonetheless. Demetrius had charged into a fight. Irina was dead. And now he had no choice but to offer her an alliance.

And she had no choice but to accept. Because the only alternative was to fight. The Gamemakers wouldn't let them simply walk away. Either they fought, or they joined forces. There were no other options.

And, of the two options, allying was by far the better choice. Demetrius was injured, but he had brought weapons. Weapons that already had blood on them. If he'd managed to kill one of the Careers…

"It was Hadrian," Demetrius said quietly, as if he could sense her question as she eyed the bloody axe on the cave floor. "I attacked him. I didn't even think. I just … just reacted. I thought it was what the audience would want. Thought they wanted us to fight. I could have run, but I didn't."

He shook his head. "I killed him," he whispered, as if just saying the words aloud somehow made them more real. "I killed Hadrian."

Freya kept her attention on the bandages she had cut out of Demetrius' sleeves. She wanted to say something. Something comforting. Something reassuring. Something like, _You did what you had to do_. But he hadn't. He could have simply run, as she had. He hadn't needed to fight.

But it wouldn't do either of them any good to say so – especially in front of the cameras. Maybe his ramblings could be dismissed as the product of blood loss, but she had no excuse. She had to start acting like a Career again.

A Career. Freya took a deep breath as she finished bandaging Demetrius' arm. She had allied with Cedra in an attempt to get away from the Careers. To avoid becoming one of them again. But now she had no choice. If Hadrian was dead, that left four in their alliance. Aelin's alliance, now, assuming she was still alive. Aside from them, her new alliance was now the strongest in the arena.

Maybe even _including_ them.

They had weapons, after all. They had what little food they had found in Gareth's pack, along with some rope and a box of matches. They had water – which was probably something the other Career pack didn't have. And three of them were actually Careers. _Had_ been Careers. Would have to be Careers again if they wanted to survive. Aelin was the only Career left in her alliance. The only other Career left in the arena, aside from Galen.

So they were in a good position. Better than Freya had expected. She had been content when she and Cedra had found water quickly. Now they had water, two new allies, and weapons. But there was a downside of being one of the strongest alliances in the arena.

Eventually, they would have to start acting like it.

* * *

 **Cadaya Kallier, 43  
** **District Eight**

Eventually, they would have to stop.

Cadaya clutched Ebony's hand tightly as they reached a fork in the passageway. What appeared to be the main tunnel kept going straight, while another passage branched off to the right. "That way?" Ebony asked in a whisper, nodding towards the branch on the right.

It made sense. If the Careers came hunting, they may very well pass by the tunnel on the right. If they were in enough of a hurry, they might not even notice it. Cadaya nodded, and the pair kept walking in silence. Ebony's two words had been the most either of them had uttered since the bloodbath.

Part of her wanted to say something. Something comforting. Reassuring. Something like, _At least we're still alive_. But something stopped her.

Maybe it was fear. Even Ebony's whispered words had echoed in the tunnels. There was nothing to soak up the sound – nothing but glowing rocks and the cold cave floor. A conversation might alert the other tributes to their presence.

The other tributes. Cadaya swallowed hard, squeezing Ebony's hand gently. The other tributes. Their fellow Victors. Their friends. Four of them were already dead. Dead at each other's hands. What about Maximus, her own district partner? What about Aras, Ebony's district partner? Were they dead? Had they killed? She had a hard time imagining either.

Then again, she had a hard time imagining _any_ of them killing. _Any_ of them dying. But she would have to get used to the thought – and fast – if she was going to survive.

Suddenly, Ebony stopped. Cadaya glanced at her ally, who was staring into the darkness ahead. "Do you see that?" Ebony whispered.

Cadaya looked where Ebony was pointing, but she could see nothing. Ebony took a few cautious steps forward, then a few more. Silently, she reached down, placing her hand on the ground. Then she ran back to Cadaya, grinning, holding her hand out. "Water!" she whispered. "There's water."

Cadaya followed Ebony forward, and they both sat down at the edge of what appeared to be either a large pond or a small lake in the middle of a larger cavern. Cadaya reached down, cupping her hands, and drank as much as she could. Beside her, Ebony did the same. Cadaya finally smiled a little. "Good choice." The right-hand passage had definitely been the right decision.

Ebony nodded, but she didn't seem to have heard. "Who do you think is dead?" she asked in a whisper, finally allowing herself to accept what had just happened. Her voice was thin and shaky, and, for a moment, she sounded like a frightened young child, rather than the teenager she was – let alone the killer the Gamemakers expected her to be.

Expected _them_ to be. The killing had already begun. How long would it be before they were forced to be a part of it? Cadaya slipped an arm around Ebony's shoulders. "I don't know," she said quietly. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough." Exactly how the Gamemakers planned to show the tributes' faces inside the cave, Cadaya wasn't sure, but she was certain they would find away. "But I do know one thing." She squeezed Ebony's shoulders gently.

"We're still alive."

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

They were still alive.

Valion and Silvesta watched silently as Felix and Shyanne passed, smashing cameras along the way and even smiling a little. Laughing, almost. Valion glanced at Silvesta, who shrugged. They weren't hurting anything – not really. The Gamemakers had plenty of cameras; they could spare a few.

And they were still alive. Valion had never been more relieved than when he'd heard Shyanne's voice behind them in the tunnels. He'd pulled Silvesta off to the side, hiding in a narrow passageway nearby as the pair passed.

Silvesta nodded in answer to Valion's unasked question. Silently, the pair slipped out of hiding and followed their younger district partners. Chances were, it wouldn't do any good. But if the Gamemakers sent some sort of mutts to attack the pair for what they were doing, then maybe he and Silvesta could help.

Valion shook his head. Who was he kidding? If the Gamemakers wanted Felix and Shyanne dead, they would be dead. But not quickly, and not kindly. And maybe that was the reason – the _real_ reason – that he and Silvesta were following. If the Gamemakers had something slow and torturous planned, they could at least step in to stop it. To make sure that their deaths were quick and painless, instead.

Valion swallowed hard, fighting back a lump in his throat. He couldn't imagine that, really – killing Shyanne, or even Felix. He was still having trouble imagining killing _any_ of them. He and Silvesta had fled the bloodbath immediately, not even bothering to run in and grab supplies.

There would be time for that later.

And there would be other supplies in the arena. They could find food. They could find water. Underground caves usually had some sort of water; it was only a matter of finding it.

Suddenly, the sound of the Capitol anthem echoed through the cave, and Valion glanced around, waiting. He'd been wondering how the Capitol was planning to show the tributes' faces. Valion glanced at Silvesta, who nodded. Whoever's faces appeared now, they had been lucky. They were both alive. Their district partners were alive.

Beyond that … well, maybe it didn't matter.

Or, at least, that's what he tried to tell himself as Hadrian's face appeared, the glowing lights on the cave wall brightening and dimming to form the image of his face, with "District 1" displayed beneath it. Clever. Almost clever enough to distract him from the fact that Hadrian was dead. They hadn't been close, but Hadrian had won only four years after Valion's – one of the victories he still remembered clearly.

And now he was dead.

* * *

 **Jani Aramine, 32  
** **District Eleven**

Hadrian was dead.

Jani glanced at Galen, who was watching the cave wall silently, waiting for the next face. Maybe the pair hadn't been close, but they had been fellow Careers. Sort of, at least. He'd never really been sure whether Galen considered himself a Career. And now probably wasn't the best time to ask.

Evo's face was next. No one seemed particularly surprised by that – not after what Evo had done. What he had tried to do. He only hoped the old man's death had been quick. Maybe it was better that he had died now, at the hands of one of his fellow Victors, than it would be for him to fall victim to whatever the Gamemakers had planned.

Irina's face followed, and this time, Jani _was_ surprised. Irina had seemed so confident during training. She had scored a nine, and her interview had gone well. What had gone wrong?

But it was the next – and final – face that surprised him even more. Ira. Jani took a step back from the wall as her face appeared, the "District 11" beneath it leaving no doubt that the lights on the wall had made a mistake. "Shit," Jani hissed before he could catch himself. "I thought…"

He couldn't finish the sentence. He couldn't let himself. Because he had almost said, _I thought I would die first_. And that wasn't what the audience wanted to hear.

But it was true, just the same. From the moment of the reaping, he had assumed that Ira had a better chance than him. Hylan and Irina, he was certain, had assumed the same. But he was still alive, and Ira was gone.

"I thought she would make it farther, too," Galen offered, finishing Jani's sentence in a much more acceptable manner. "She always seemed strong."

 _Unlike me._ But he didn't say it. Somehow, being around Galen and Aras made it impossible to wallow in self-pity. After all, he was still alive. He had been worried on the train about the possibility that Ira might kill him, if they both made it far. Now that was one less thing to worry about.

Jani took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as Ira's face faded. Just as he was about to suggest that they keep moving, however, he realized that the lights were continuing to dim. Slowly, the cave got darker and darker, at last leaving them all in complete darkness.

"Well, then," Aras chuckled. "I guess that answers my question. I was about to ask if you wanted to keep moving, but…"

"Best not," Galen agreed. "You never know when you might stumble into a hole full of razor-sharp rocks."

Jani cringed, but Aras jumped right in. "No, no, no. It wouldn't be full of rocks. I bet it'd be a hole full of snakes. Snakes live in caves, right?"

There was a silence, and, even in the dark, Jani knew they were looking at him. Waiting for him to either chime in or ask them to stop. He wanted them to stop. He didn't want to think about what might be lurking in the caves.

But he didn't want to disappoint the audience. And, more importantly, he didn't want to disappoint his allies. So he took a deep breath and joined the game. "Snakes? No, but I bet there's a bear. A giant bear, with teeth and claws as long as your arm. Its soft paws, padding across the cave floor…"

Suddenly, he trailed off. For a moment, he thought he _had_ heard feet. Not a bear's paws, but bare feet. Human feet, running away.

But a clap on the back shook the thought from his mind. "Well, what was I worried for?" Galen chuckled. "We can handle that. I bet Jani here could rip that bear to shreds with his bare hands."

Jani laughed. He knew better, of course. If a bear – or any other mutt – found them in the dark, they were as good as dead. But it was only the first night. Hopefully, they were being entertaining enough that the Gamemakers wouldn't see a reason to kill them.

But that wouldn't stop the other tributes.

* * *

 **Euclid Hoover, 32  
** **District Three**

He couldn't stop running.

Euclid panted as he sprinted on in the dark. Stupid, he knew. He could run into a wall. Or another tribute. Or even one of those mutts that Galen, Aras, and Jani had been talking about. But, somehow, none of that mattered right now. He couldn't think. He didn't _want_ to think. He had to get away.

He didn't want to be here.

And he certainly didn't want to sit there and listen to them anymore. He had been hiding in the entrance to a nearby passageway when they had passed by him – just before the anthem had begun playing. He had been waiting for the chance to sneak away quietly, but then they had started talking. Talking about all the terrible things that could happen.

He didn't _want_ those things to happen. So he had run, as if by running from them he could escape the horrors they were talking about. A small corner of his mind registered how silly that was. He was doing the very thing they had wanted to avoid – running on in the dark, with no idea what lay ahead. But his feet didn't care what was on the path ahead.

Behind, technically, he realized too late. He was on his way back the way he had come. Back towards the cornucopia. But it was too late to turn around. He didn't want to go back that way. He didn't want to hear their voices.

He just wanted to go home.

Part of him wanted to yell. To shout at the Gamemakers that he just wanted to go home. That he just wanted to live. But he was too out of breath. And it was useless. They didn't _want_ him to live. They didn't want _any_ of them to live.

Near in tears, Euclid barely let out a scream as he crashed headlong into the wall. Stunned, he toppled over backwards, tears streaming from his eyes. His whole body ached. It wasn't fair. Euclid clenched his teeth. No. He wasn't going to be killed by a _wall_. He took a deep breath. Then another. _Get up._

But before he could, a pair of hands closed around his neck.

* * *

 **Wisteria Cassava, 34  
** **District Three**

She couldn't see who it was.

Wisteria nearly jumped when she heard the crash. Someone had run into the wall. Someone stupid enough to actually keep moving once the lights had gone out. And anyone that stupid … well, maybe they _deserved_ to die.

No. No, none of them deserved to die. But they would have to, if she was going to live. And now was as good a time as any.

As silently as she could, Wisteria crept forward towards the fallen tribute. In the pitch black, she still couldn't see who it was. But she could hear their breathing – ragged and gasping. Maybe they were already dying. Killing them now would be merciful. Obviously, they weren't going to last long in the arena.

Gritting her teeth, Wisteria lunged towards the sound of breathing. Her hands found something. The other tribute's throat. There was a gasping, choking sound. A pair of hands flailed wildly towards her. Something slapped her in the face. But Wisteria held on.

Suddenly, the tribute's hands wrapped around her right arm – firm and strong. But instead of trying to push her away, the hands twisted, farther and farther, wrenching her hand away from his throat. Wisteria gasped in pain as the hands held on. Something kicked her in the stomach. The hands gave a tug, and she sprawled forward, her arm crashing against the ground.

And suddenly, the other tribute was on top of her. A hand was around _her_ throat. She flailed wildly, but one arm was quickly pinned by the other tribute's knee, the other held in one hand as the other hand clutched her throat, pressing harder and harder. Suddenly, the hand pulled her neck up – and then down, smashing her head against the cave floor. Once. Twice. Blood gushed from the back of her head. "Stop!" Wisteria gasped. "Please, stop!"

And, to her surprise, the tribute did. "Wisteria?"

Euclid.

She had attacked Euclid.

Tears came to Wisteria's eyes as her district partner's voice grew faint. She couldn't tell exactly what he was saying. She thought she could make out the words _Hold on._ He was hysterical. Begging. Begging her to live.

But she deserved to die.

Wisteria closed her eyes. "It's okay," she whispered. And it was. Everything felt strangely … right. Maybe this was just how death felt. Wisteria smiled a little. She deserved this. Maybe she even _wanted_ this.

Maybe it was easier than the alternative.

* * *

 **Hypatia Merle  
** **District Three Mentor**

She wasn't sure which one she pitied more.

Hypatia shook her head, watching the screen silently as Wisteria's cannon sounded. Wisteria and Euclid hadn't been able to see each other, but the Gamemakers had set up plenty of night-vision cameras. She had been able to see everything.

But unable to do anything. Unable to intervene as District Three's tributes had tried to kill each other. It wasn't fair. Wisteria had only been trying to take advantage of an opportunity. Euclid had only been defending himself. They had both been trapped by the rules of the Game.

Now Wisteria was dead. And Euclid was sobbing hysterically by her body, babbling and begging her not to die. Maybe he hadn't even heard the cannon. Maybe he thought that if he pleaded enough, the cannon wouldn't matter – or would belong to someone else.

But it wouldn't. She was dead. He had killed her.

Did he have it in him to live with that?

Hypatia breathed a sigh of relief as Euclid finally put the pieces together. He was making too much noise. He had to leave. Still sobbing, he scurried down the first passageway he could find – away from Galen, Aras, and Jani, and then veering left away from the cornucopia. Eventually, the crying stopped. His breathing returned to normal. Keeping one hand on the side of the wall for both balance and direction, he made his way forward in the dark.

Hypatia nodded a little. Most of the tributes had settled down for the night. Even the Careers at the cornucopia seemed perfectly willing to get a good night's rest before heading out to hunt. Euclid would probably be safe for the night. But maybe it was good for him to keep moving. Maybe it would keep him from thinking about what had happened. About what he had done.

But he couldn't outrun the memory forever.

* * *

" _Fear makes companions of us all."_


	29. What You Have to Do

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the final eight poll if you haven't already.

Also, a quick shout-out to _TitanMaddix_ and _Reader Castellan_ , two of our submitters who have open SYOTs. And a warm welcome back to _JabberjayHeart_ , who's doing a SYOT of the very first Games. Send 'em some tributes! :)

* * *

 **Day Two  
** **What You Have to Do**

* * *

 **Elias Monet  
** **District Four Mentor**

They couldn't just sit there forever.

Elias drummed his fingers on the table as the walls of the arena began to glow again – slowly, at first, but then a little bit brighter. Daytime. But Freya, Demetrius, and Gareth were still sleeping soundly. Cedra was on watch, and was clearly starting to get anxious.

And not without good reason. When she had decided to ally with Freya, there had been little pressure. Since they hadn't joined either of the packs, the pair of them hadn't been expecting to act like Careers in the arena. They could have laid low. They could have gone unnoticed. The two of them waiting out the first few days of the Games by a water supply wouldn't have been exciting, but they hadn't been _trying_ to be exciting.

But now they would have to be. Together, the four of them were arguably the strongest group in the arena. They couldn't simply wait around for the other groups to kill each other off. The Gamemakers wouldn't allow it, and they all knew it. They had been safe waiting the rest of the first day, and even the first night. In the pitch black, what could the audience expect them to do? But now…

They would have to get moving.

* * *

 **Euclid Hoover, 32  
** **District Three**

He had to keep moving.

Euclid held back a yawn as he kept stumbling forward. The walls of the cave were beginning to glow again. Was it morning? Already? Or were the Gamemakers simply playing with them? It didn't seem like it should be morning yet. It seemed like only a few minutes since…

Since he had killed Wisteria. Euclid swallowed hard, fighting back another yawn. Some part of him knew he needed rest. Sleep. But every time he thought about stopping to rest, the grief and the guilt returned. He didn't _deserve_ to rest. He didn't deserve to sleep. How could he bear waking again, when Wisteria never would?

Euclid clenched his fists tightly, fighting back tears. She had attacked him. He hadn't known it was her. But, right now, none of that seemed to matter. All that mattered was that she was dead. That he had killed her.

It wasn't fair.

Suddenly, Euclid stopped short. For a moment, he had thought he heard something. A gentle, quiet sound. Breathing, maybe – or even a soft groaning noise. Euclid's heart raced. Someone else was nearby. Somewhere. But he didn't hear any footsteps. Were they asleep? Were they injured?

Euclid swallowed hard, standing perfectly still. He had been moving in the same direction since leaving Wisteria's body – or, at least, he had thought he had. He couldn't have made it back to her. And, even if he had, she was dead.

Wasn't she?

Of course she was. He'd heard the cannon. But the cannon could have been someone else's. Anyone else's. If there was even a _chance_ that she was still alive – that she was the one he was hearing – then he had to make sure.

He had to know.

As quietly as he could, Euclid made his way towards the breathing. At last, he was close enough to see that it was, in fact, a person. A woman, lying in a small crook in the wall, her back turned towards him. But it wasn't Wisteria – not unless his eyes were playing tricks in the dark.

Then he saw the blood.

Euclid took a step back, startled. Whoever it was, they were injured – and badly, judging from the amount of blood. He crept closer. Closer. Finally, he could see a six on what was left of the woman's sleeve. Camryn. What had happened to her? What had happened to her allies?

No – ally. And Ira was dead; he'd seen her face on the wall. Euclid swallowed hard. A knife was lying beside Camryn; maybe she had been hoping that anyone who approached would make enough noise to wake her, and she would be able to grab it. It wasn't a great plan, but what choice had she had? She had obviously needed to rest.

Euclid clenched his fists. All he had to do was grab the knife, use it, and she would rest forever – just like Wisteria. Silently, he knelt beside her. Her shirt was stained red with blood. How long would she last, anyway? Not long, unless…

Unless someone helped her.

Euclid reached down, silently taking the knife. Camryn didn't budge. "I'll help you," he whispered, even though he knew she wouldn't hear. He hadn't said it for her – or even for the audience. He had said it to reassure himself.

Maybe to redeem himself.

He hadn't been able to help Wisteria. He hadn't been able to help his district partner last time, either. In fact, now that he thought about it, he'd never really been in a position to help _anyone_ during the Games. Or even outside of them. Euclid clenched his teeth as he took a seat next to Camryn.

This time would be different.

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 21  
** **District Four**

She had thought this time would be different.

Cedra shook her head as she continued to pace the length of their small cavern. It wasn't fair. She and Freya hadn't wanted this alliance. They had wanted to be left alone. They had wanted to stay away from all of the action, the pressure, the drama that came with being part of the Career pack.

But no one had even asked if this was what she wanted. And there hadn't really been much of a choice. Given the choice between joining Demetrius and Gareth and fighting them, she and Freya had made the right choice. The _only_ choice.

But that didn't mean she had to like it.

Now they would have to act soon, because the Gamemakers weren't about to let one of the largest and strongest alliances in the arena simply sit there and do nothing. They had food, water, weapons – everything they needed. Everything they needed to survive.

And everything they needed to kill.

Finally, the growing light on the walls began to wake the other three. Demetrius smiled a little. "Good morning."

Maybe he was trying to sound pleasant. Maybe he just wanted to say something normal. But she wasn't in the mood. "What's so good about it?"

"We're alive," Freya offered. And she was right, but that didn't make it any less irritating. That was all they really had to be thankful for, in the end – their lives. Everything else had been stolen from them. And the fact that they hadn't been murdered yet didn't seem like much to be grateful for.

"And so are fifteen other tributes," Gareth pointed out. "Nineteen of us in all."

Cedra nodded. The cannon had woken her during the night. She hadn't thought anyone would be reckless enough to keep moving once the lights were out, but maybe someone had decided to chance it. Or maybe they had been injured earlier and died during the night. Or maybe…

Maybe someone _did_ have light. Maybe there had been lamps or flashlights or something at the Cornucopia, and they had missed them because they had run. Normally, there was something in the arena that would burn – wood for torches, usually. If they could get ahold of something that would provide light at night, they would certainly have an advantage.

"We need to find light," Cedra said quietly.

Gareth cocked an eyebrow, glancing around. "Pretty sure we have all the light we need right now."

Demetrius shook his head. "She meant for later – for tonight. So that we can see once it gets dark again." He stood up slowly. "That means we'll have to go back to the cornucopia."

Cedra bit her lip. She hadn't meant to suggest that – not really. But he was right; that was the obvious solution. There weren't likely to be any lights just lying around the arena, after all. "We should wait a little while, at least. The other Career pack won't be sitting around the cornucopia all day. We should wait an hour or so, send out a scout to see how many guards they left, and then figure out what to do next."

Demetrius clapped Cedra on the back. "I think we have a volunteer."

Cedra hesitated a moment. She hadn't _meant_ to volunteer. She had simply been stating the obvious plan. But then she glanced at Freya, who nodded. Demetrius wasn't suggesting that she go because he wanted to risk her life, or because he considered her expendable. He was giving her a chance to prove herself.

And she couldn't afford to waste it.

* * *

 **Aelin Kuang, 60  
** **District One**

They couldn't afford to waste any more time.

Aelin drummed her fingers on the side of the cornucopia as the others shook themselves awake. How could they have slept so well? She'd been so restless during the night, she'd woken up halfway through Clark's watch and offered to take his place because she wasn't going to be able to sleep, anyway. If it hadn't been so dark, she would have suggested they start hunting then.

But it _had_ been dark. Too dark to do anything but wait it out. As soon as the walls had begun to glow again, she had scoured the cornucopia supplies for anything that could be useful. Matches, flashlights, lamps – anything.

But there had been nothing. No way to hunt at night – at least not yet. So they would have to make use of the daylight, such as it was, as much as they could.

Most of the others, however, didn't seem to be in any particular hurry to get moving. Hatchet and Clark were sorting through the supplies, finding breakfast. Maximus was pacing the room – maybe as restless as she was. They couldn't afford to waste time – not when the Gamemakers could turn the lights off again at any moment, regardless of the actual time. How long had the lights been off? A full night? Longer? It had certainly seemed longer, but maybe that was just her mind playing tricks.

Aelin shook her head. "We need to get moving." Hatchet and Clark were eating, and Maximus had finally settled down to breakfast, as well, but that was no reason why they couldn't discuss strategy. "We should leave a guard at the cornucopia."

"I volunteer," Hatchet offered. When that prompted a few raised eyebrows, she simply shrugged. "What? We all know I'd slow down any hunting group. I'm the obvious choice."

"You want us to leave you here alone?" Clark asked, understandably concerned. Hatchet had barely survived the bloodbath – and only with his help. If they left her alone now…

"You can stay with her if you're so worried," Aelin shrugged, shooting Maximus a glance. Maximus nodded, keeping silent while Clark considered the offer. She didn't want him interfering; she wanted to see what Clark would do.

Clark glanced from Hatchet to Aelin to Maximus, then back again. Considering. Weighing the options. Finally, Hatchet broke the tension, giving Clark's shoulder a squeeze. "Go with them; I'll be fine."

That was all the prompting Clark needed. He took the old woman's hand gently. "Be safe."

Hatchet chuckled. "Don't you worry about me. I've got Hadrian here for company." She gave the corpse a punch in the side.

Aelin cringed. Was she trying to rub it in? The fact that Hatchet and Clark were still alive, while Hadrian was dead – it wasn't fair.

But Maximus suddenly stood up. "Actually, that's not a bad idea." Without any further explanation, he started propping Hadrian's body up against the cornucopia, then did the same with the other three. From a distance…

No. No, it wouldn't fool anyone. But it might throw them off-guard a little. Might make them hesitate. And, in a critical moment, that might be enough. Hatchet chuckled a little. "Well, they're not exactly a lively bunch, but I'll take all the help I can get." Aelin nodded, rolling her eyes.

She could take care of herself.

* * *

 **Shyanne James, 19  
** **District Five**

They could take care of themselves.

Shyanne clenched her fists as she heard the noise again – the footsteps behind them. Someone was following them. Well, _two_ someones, actually. Valion and Silvesta. She had caught a glimpse of them a while back. They had slipped behind a rock, but not quickly enough. She had seen them, and she was certain they knew it.

So why hadn't they said something? The obviously didn't mean to attack. So what were they doing? Keeping an eye on them? Hoping to protect them?

She didn't _need_ their protection. But it was more than that. If something happened – if the Gamemakers went after her and Felix – she didn't want Valion to get caught up in it. Maybe that was why he hadn't said anything. As long as he stayed out of sight, he could pretend that he and Silvesta were stalking them, rather than trying to help them. The audience probably wouldn't buy it, but maybe it would be enough to keep him safe…

No. None of them were safe. None of them had ever been safe – even when they had talked themselves into believing they were.

So they might as well have a little fun.

Shyanne glanced at Felix, who had been strangely quiet since she had woken him about an hour before, when the lights along the walls had returned. "What's the matter?" she asked, but Felix simply put a finger to his lips. "What is it?" she pressed.

"Shhh," Felix insisted. "Listen."

Shyanne listened closely, but she couldn't hear anything. She couldn't even hear Valion and Silvesta anymore. But Felix stopped short, slowly kneeling down and putting his ear to the ground. "You don't hear that?"

No. She didn't hear anything. But now she felt it – something shaking the ground under their bare feet. Vibrating. An earthquake?

Or something else?

"Run!" Felix called suddenly, leaping up and taking Shyanne's hand. The pair of them ran – from what, exactly, Shyanne wasn't sure, but she wasn't about to argue. The two of them veered quickly to the left, and, finally, out of the corner of her eye, she could see what was coming after them.

It was a spider – except much, much bigger. It was at least twice her size, barely big enough to scurry through the tunnel. But despite its size, it was moving with surprising speed. Behind it was another – and then a third.

Shyanne squeezed Felix's hand as hard as she could. They had both known that the Gamemakers would come after them. "Shyanne," Felix gasped, squeezing her hand. "You have to—"

But she knew what she had to do.

* * *

 **Felix Norwood, 25  
** **District Twelve**

He knew what he had to do.

Felix ducked to the side as Shyanne lunged. She understood. The spiders – and the Gamemakers – weren't going to let both of them get away. Only one of them could survive this.

Only _she_ could survive this.

The Gamemakers weren't going to let him win; it had been obvious from the start. The only thing he could do was screw them over one last time. They had won before. Ross had died right in front of him, and he'd had to live with that for eight long years.

He wouldn't let that happen again.

"This is all your fault!" Shyanne cried, lunging again. Again, he dodged. The spiders were coming closer. " _You_ were the one who wanted to mess up the Games! I should never have listened to you!"

She was acting, of course. But the words still stung. It _was_ his fault she was in danger. Maybe it had been Evo's idea, but he had gone along with it wholeheartedly, not caring if he got himself killed. But he had never wanted to get Shyanne killed along with him. He had never wanted to hurt her.

And he didn't want to hurt her now, but he had to. He had to make it look real, or the audience would never believe it. And if the audience didn't believe they were fighting, the Gamemakers would never let either of them live.

So the next time Shyanne lunged, Felix grabbed at her, and they both tumbled to the hard cave floor. " _My_ fault?" Felix demanded. "If your damn mentor hadn't gotten himself killed, we might have been able to come up with an actual _plan_. But _you_ just _had_ to tell Valion what we were thinking of doing – and, well, he took care of the rest, didn't he."

Shyanne's eyes grew wide as they tumbled, and Felix knew he had hit a nerve. Whether or not Valion had actually been responsible for Rufus' demise, he wasn't really sure. Somehow he doubted it. But playing along with that idea could only help Shyanne, as long as she realized…

"You're right, he did," Shyanne spat, throwing a punch. "And I only wish he'd done it sooner – maybe then I wouldn't have gotten roped into your little … your little _rebellion_." She spat the word in his face even as his fist connected with her mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, Felix caught a glimpse of the spiders. They were certainly close enough to attack, but, sure enough, they were waiting. Waiting for the right moment.

Felix caught Shyanne's wrist as it came hurtling towards his head. "Rebellion," he spat back. "I guess that makes you a traitor. I was your _ally_." He grabbed one of the rocks that they had been using to smash the cameras and chucked it at her head. She dodged, then grabbed one of her own with her free hand.

"No," she said firmly. "I wasn't." The rock came down – hard this time, against his head – and Felix let it, making a show of flailing at her arm as it came down, then grabbing a clump of hair in his fist as the blood began to flow down his face. Shyanne struck again. "I never was." Again. "And I never will be."

Felix threw one punch. Then another. But Shyanne was already on her feet. Already scrambling past the spiders. Felix clenched his teeth, trying not to smile as she ran past them unharmed, calling, "He's all yours."

Slowly, Felix climbed to his knees, and then his feet. But the path Shyanne had taken was gone, blocked by three large spiders. Felix finally allowed himself a smile as the spiders charged. "Well, let's get this over with."

The biggest one – nearly too big to crawl through the tunnels – charged first. Felix ducked beneath one of her legs, dodging a strike from her fangs. As he ducked, he snatched up the rock Shyanne had struck him with, then struck one of the other spider's legs as hard as he could.

It did no good. He hadn't been expecting it to. The spider didn't budge, and the third one was closing in. He was surrounded. Felix ducked under one hairy leg, then another, but then another leg swiped in front of him, knocking him off his feet. Something struck him in the leg, pinning him down. One of the spider's claws, he realized, had gone straight through his right thigh. Pain shot through his leg, blood beginning to flow as the spider yanked its claw back out.

Felix gritted his teeth, trying to stagger to his feet, but, before he could, the biggest spider's giant head came hurtling towards him, its fangs ready. One of them pierced straight through his chest, and Felix let out a laugh, coughing blood, as the world started to spin and the venom began to do its work.

At least it would be quick.

* * *

 **Silvesta Ardin, 47  
** **District Twelve**

 _Boom._

Silvesta shuddered as the sound of the cannon echoed through the stone passageways. The ground had been shaking for a while, and she and Valion had stopped, not knowing which way the shaking was coming from, or which way to run.

Then they had heard voices. Felix and Shyanne, she was sure of it. But Valion had held her back. He had probably saved her life. Whatever trouble Felix and Shyanne were in, they wouldn't be able to help. Not really.

But then why had they been following them? Silvesta shook her head. What had she thought she would be able to accomplish by keeping an eye on Felix? Had she really thought she would be able to protect him?

Had she really thought she could protect him from _himself_?

Silvesta gripped Valion's hand tightly. There had only been one cannon. What did that mean? Had the Gamemakers wanted to keep one of them alive for later? Or would another cannon follow soon enough?

Just as she was about to suggest that maybe they should see what had happened, she heard something. Footsteps. Silvesta tensed, but then she saw Valion smile. "Over here!" he called. "We're over here!"

Silvesta raised an eyebrow. Who did he think it was? Shyanne? Who else would he be calling to? But how could he be so sure? And if it _was_ Shyanne, wouldn't the mutts – or whatever the Gamemakers had sent – be following her? Why would he take the chance of drawing them closer?

Would she take that chance if she thought it was Felix?

But it wasn't Felix. Couldn't be Felix. The Gamemakers would never let him go; he had known that from the start. But Shyanne…

Sure enough, as the footsteps came closer, Shyanne came into view in the pale yellow glow, running towards them with tears in her eyes. Immediately, Valion ran to her, catching her in a hug. "It's all right. It's all right. You're okay now. It's okay."

Silvesta took a step closer, watching the two. "What happened to Felix?"

Shyanne took a deep breath. Swallowed hard. Deciding. "I killed him," she said at last, quietly. But then, louder, "I killed him. And I wish I'd done it sooner."

She didn't. She couldn't. And she probably hadn't killed him at all. How could she have? Neither of them had any weapons, and she was much smaller than him. But there was blood on her shirt, and she didn't seem to be injured, aside from a few bruises on her face. Maybe she _had_ killed him.

Silvesta shook the thought from her head. If she had, there must have been a reason. Maybe Felix had even told her to, in order to let her get away. That didn't sound like Felix, but, then again, there was no telling what he might do. And there was no way to know for sure – not now that he was dead.

Dead. Felix was dead. As much as she hated it, she almost felt relieved. Valion, too, looked much more at ease as he pulled Silvesta into their hug, holding both her and Shyanne close. "Come on," he said quietly. "Let's get out of here."

But before they could go anywhere, there was a gentle pinging noise. All three of them glanced around. The noise was familiar – a parachute – but where was it? How would a parachute even get into the tunnels?

Soon enough, they had their answer. A soft whirring noise filled the tunnel, and a small, round door opened in the ceiling – just large enough for a package to float through. Immediately, the door closed again, blending into the rock around it. Valion knelt and lifted the package. "It's for you, Shyanne."

Sure enough, there was a five on the package – but that could be for either of them. Valion, however, seemed content to let her have it, so Shyanne quickly opened the package. Inside was a metal rod, about two feet long and an inch thick, with a button on the side. Cautiously, Shyanne pressed the button, and light came shining from the end of the rod. Another press of the button quickly turned it off. As Sivlesta watched, a smile crept over Shyanne's face.

" _Now_ we can go."

* * *

 **Aras Everett, 63  
** **District Nine**

"We have to go!"

Aras' voice was a whisper, but no less urgent. A rumbling noise had filled the tunnel a few moments ago, and it was growing closer. The three of them quickly ran for the nearest passageway, hoping that whatever was coming would choose a different direction.

But it didn't. The sound kept following them. "This way!" Aras called, ducking into a small opening in the wall, then pulling Jani in after him. Galen quickly caught up, joining them inside just as the mutts rushed past.

They were spiders – giant spiders. Aras shuddered as they passed by. One. Two. Three. Three giant spiders. But they hadn't attacked. Hadn't even seemed to notice them, really. There had been a cannon a little while ago. Maybe that had been their doing. Maybe the audience would be satisfied for now.

But not for long. "We should head back the other way," Aras suggested. "We don't want those things finding us."

"Maybe we do." To his surprise, the voice was Jani's. "Maybe … maybe we should follow them."

Aras opened his mouth to object, but Jani continued. "If they're headed back that way, there must be a reason. Maybe their nest is there."

"That sounds like a good argument for going any other direction," Galen pointed out.

Jani nodded. "Yeah, it's dangerous. But think about it. What do spiders drink?"

"Blood?" Galen offered.

Jani cringed. "Maybe. But a spider that big? Living down here? It would never get enough blood to survive – not really. If we're looking for water – or maybe even food – our best bet is following them."

Galen shrugged. "I think the kid might be right, Aras."

Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't. The only certainty was that the audience would love it. It was bold. Dangerous. Daring. Exactly the sort of thing he should leap at the opportunity for – or should even have suggested himself.

So why did it feel wrong?

Aras shook the thought from his head, clapping Jani on the back. "All right, then. Tracking giant killer spiders it is. Let's go."

He just hoped they weren't making a mistake.

* * *

 **Clark Tierney, 23  
** **District Seven**

He just hoped he hadn't made a mistake.

Clark gripped his axe tightly as the sound of the cannon continued to echo through the tunnels. Just one – one cannon. He turned the axe over in his hand. Had the cannon been Hatchet's? They hadn't been gone that long; they'd been making their way down the red passageway for about ten minutes. But how long would it take for someone to overpower her? She had almost died during the bloodbath. How long would she really last if someone decided to attack the cornucopia? Would she really try to defend it, or would she have the sense to run?

And even if she ran, would she be able to get away?

But there hadn't been any other choice – not really. He could have stayed, of course, but that would have meant only Maximus and Aelin, hunting alone. That wasn't much of a pack. And would the Gamemakers really have let him stay at the cornucopia with Hatchet, just waiting for the others to come back? No. No, this had been the right choice. The only choice?

So why did it feel so wrong?

Clark swallowed hard. It felt wrong because Hatchet could die. And he probably wouldn't. He was risking her life, rather than his own. Because that was the only way to survive the Games. The only way _he_ would survive the Games. He had already saved her once. He couldn't keep risking his life trying to keep her safe.

And she knew that as well as anyone else. She had told him to go. Promised that she would be all right. She knew better. Her only hope was that no one decided to attack the cornucopia.

Which was a possibility, of course. What other groups would still be in the area? They had some idea of which way some people had run, but no way of knowing how far they had gone. Which ones had kept going, and which ones might still be nearby.

Which was why they were out hunting, of course. Why _he_ was out hunting. Hunting with a Career pack – another thing that just felt _wrong_. He had spent his own Games running from the Careers. Hiding from the Careers. Hoping that the Careers wouldn't find him and his allies.

Now he was one of them. And so was Hatchet. Whether they really expected her to be able to defend it or not, they had still left her alone at the Cornucopia. They trusted her at least that much.

Not that they'd really had much of a choice. With Hadrian gone, they couldn't afford to lose anyone else. And she had been right about being the right choice for who to leave behind. There were no good options. No right choice that would guarantee safety for all of them.

And hunting … well, that had its dangers, too. He wasn't really safe. None of them were. That last cannon could have been anyone's, and so could the next. The next one could be Hatchet's, or Maximus' or Aelin's, or even his.

No one was ever safe in the Games.

* * *

 **Winnow Rathings  
** **District Seven Mentor**

"No one is ever safe in the Games."

Winnow glanced up as Benton hoisted himself into a seat beside her. "That's easy for you to say," she mumbled. His tribute was about as safe as he could be alongside Aelin and Maximus, while hers…

Benton chuckled a little. "Really? Winnow, Hatchet was my mentor before you were even born. If you think I don't care about her just because I happen to be mentoring Clark, instead—" He took a long drink. "—then you really don't understand how this mentoring thing works."

Winnow shook her head. He was right, of course. "I'm sorry. I'm just—"

"—Stressed. I know. Clark is doing what he has to do. So is Hatchet. So are all of us. Maybe it's not the best situation, but it could always be worse."

Winnow cocked an eyebrow. " _How_?"

Benton chuckled a little. "They could have left Aelin behind, instead."

Winnow did her best not to burst out laughing. "Thanks, Benton."

"Don't mention it. We all need a good laugh every now and then."

"I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"Mentor every year – you and Hatchet. How do you … get through it."

Benton shrugged. "A lot of this." He gave his drink a shake. "And a lot of this." He indicated the rest of the room with a wave of his arm. "There's a reason we're all here, together. It's easier than dealing with it alone."

Winnow nodded a little. "And why District Two?"

"What's that?"

"Why District Two's quarters?"

Benton hesitated for a moment. "I'm not sure. You could ask Sherman."

He nodded to another table, where Sherman and Avery were chatting with Aramanth and Elias. Probably discussing their own tributes, and what their next course of action should be. Probably a raid on the cornucopia. Winnow shook her head. "Probably not the best time."

"Probably not," Benton agreed. "But there's never really a good time, is there." He hopped down from his chair.

"Might as well find out."

* * *

" _Courage isn't just a matter of not being frightened, you know. It's being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway."_


	30. Obvious

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** My apologies for the long break between updates. I'm getting back in the swing of a new school year. Updates should be a bit more frequent now that I've gotten back into the routine of things.

Just a friendly reminder to vote in the final eight poll if you haven't already. A new poll will be up with the next chapter.

* * *

 **Day Two  
** **Obvious**

* * *

 **Avery Bennett  
** **District Two Mentor**

"So why District Two?"

Avery whirled around, startled by the voice and confused for a moment before she looked down and saw Benton, who quickly hopped up into a seat beside Sherman. Sherman smiled a little, amused. "Why District Two what?"

Benton gestured to the rest of the room. "Every year, we meet up in District Two's quarters. Not that I'm not grateful, of course, but since all the quarters are the same size, and Two isn't exactly a central location…"

"Why here, then?" Sherman finished.

Avery shook her head. "Our tributes are about to attack yours, and you're worried about which _room_ we're in?" Demetrius had just sent Cedra to scout out the cornucopia. As soon as she returned with the news that only Hatchet was guarding it, an attack was practically inevitable. So why was Benton so concerned about why they were in District Two's quarters?

Benton shrugged. "There's nothing I can do for Hatchet right now. No one's going to sponsor her, and even if they did, what would I send her? A warning that your group is about to attack? She's not stupid; she knows an attack is coming sooner or later. I could send a warning to Clark, of course – tell him to go back to the cornucopia to help her – but they're probably too far away. By the time they got back, it would be over, and they'd be facing a four-on-three fight for nothing – and that's if he could convince the others to come back with him. Besides, if the hunting group came back to the cornucopia every time the guard was about to be attacked, there would be no point in leaving a guard."

Avery opened her mouth to reply, but Benton continued. "And you four? Sure, you can sit over here pretending you're about to do something to help, but the truth is that your tributes don't really need it. They have food. They have weapons. Once they take the cornucopia, they'll have everything they need – and you might even be able to convince the sponsors to send them some lamps or flashlights so that they can hunt at night. But not until they do something to earn it." He scoffed. "Not until they prove themselves by killing a seventy-seven year old woman."

Sherman smiled a little. "Are you sure you're not a Career, Benton?"

Benton scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. There's a difference between being ruthless and being realistic."

Sherman nodded. "Of course. But the Career system was founded on the idea of being realistic. The idea that, since two tributes would be going into the Games no matter what we do, it made sense to give them as much preparation as possible."

"That may have been the idea at the start," Benton conceded. "But it's grown beyond that."

"Of course it has. It's grown and evolved, just as the Games have, and I'm proud to have been part of that." He took another drink. "But you were asking about why we meet here – in District Two's quarters. It's actually for the same reason – being realistic. During the Third Games, both Nerys and I were mentoring, and we realized that the Games would be easier to stomach if we watched them together. Being a gentleman, I invited her over, and this is where we've met ever since."

Avery smiled a little. _Being a gentleman._ She had never been much of one for manners, and found most who insisted on them to be uptight and cranky. But Sherman was different. Maybe he wasn't a Career himself, but maybe that put him in the perfect situation to host the Victors every year. Not quite a Career, not quite an outer-district Victor, he could relate to practically everyone who walked into the room.

Benton nodded a little. "I suppose that makes sense."

Sherman chuckled. "Not quite the answer you were hoping for."

"I was assuming the reason might be something a little bit more … elaborate." He shrugged. "But I suppose sometimes the obvious answer is the right one."

Sherman smiled warmly. "Sometimes it is."

* * *

 **Euclid Hoover, 32  
** **District Three**

Sometimes the obvious answer was the right one.

Euclid paced a little more, fingering his knife. Camryn's knife. He had promised to help her, but he had spent the last few hours trying to figure out how. Or maybe trying to work up the courage to admit that he already knew the answer.

He had to go back to the cornucopia.

It wasn't a very inviting idea, but it was the obvious one. Camryn needed medicine – or, at the very least, water. He could wander for days in the caves before finding the water he needed, if he found it at all. And Camryn might not have days. _He_ might not have days if he didn't find water soon. There was only one place where there would have to be supplies: back at the cornucopia.

The only question was whether he would be able to get to them. Which all depended on who was still there. It was the second day of the Games; the Careers might be out hunting. Or, at least, most of them probably would. They might have left a guard or two, but maybe he could sneak past them. Maybe. Maybe not. What choice did he have?

Of course, they might not even have left the cornucopia yet. They hadn't come this way, or else they would have already found him. What if they had decided to wait for nightfall? Surely the supplies at the cornucopia had included some sort of lights that would give them an advantage in the dark. If they decided to leave at night, they might still be there. Maybe it would be safer to wait.

 _Stop it._ A light groan from Camryn shook Euclid back to the moment. She couldn't wait. She needed help _now_ , and there was no one else who was going to give it to her. He had to try. At the very least, he could find out who was still at the cornucopia. If all of the Careers were still there, he could come back, or wait there for a better opportunity. And if they were gone…

If they were gone, there would be no one to stop him. He could get water, food, medicine – everything he needed. Everything _they_ needed. Euclid smiled a little, surprised by how good it felt to have an ally. How good it felt to be _needed_ by someone. To have someone relying on him. It was a terrible amount of pressure, but maybe it was worth it.

Euclid took a deep breath and started down the tunnel that led back to the cornucopia. At least, he was pretty sure that was where it led. In her condition, Camryn couldn't have made it far from the cornucopia, and he had come from the other direction.

Sure enough, after a little while, he could see a green light up ahead. The walls near the cornucopia had been green. Euclid ventured a little farther, peering into the cavern. There didn't appear to be anyone…

"Well, hello there." The voice caught him off-guard. Hatchet. He'd nearly forgotten that she was part of the Career pack. "Come on over; I'm not going to hurt you."

Euclid hesitated. Was she alone? On the one hand, it made sense that the Careers would have left her behind if they'd gone hunting. Still, her voice sounded just a little _too_ inviting. Why would she just let him come and take what he wanted? "Why not?" he asked.

Hatchet chuckled a little. "Well, for one, I probably wouldn't be able to even if I wanted to. You're less than half my age and twice as quick. But, to tell the truth, I could use your help. A little while ago, I saw Cedra poke her nose in here, too. Since she didn't attack right then, that can only mean that she's off to fetch her ally."

Cedra's ally. As far as he could remember, that was Freya. "What do you want?"

"A bargain – a temporary alliance. You help me fight them off, and I'll let you take whatever you want. I doubt you'll get such a generous offer from them."

That was probably true. But he could probably grab what he wanted and run, and there would be nothing Hatchet could do about it. Hatchet smiled a little, reading his expression perfectly. "You could try it, of course – just taking something and running. But then when Cedra comes back, I'll know exactly which way you went – information that might save my life. Who do you think the audience would consider a more impressive kill – me or you?"

Euclid nodded. She had a point. Besides, if he stayed, it would be two against two. Cedra and Freya might not even attack. They probably didn't even want to fight; Cedra had probably come for the same reason he had – to try to sneak away with some food and supplies. Euclid hesitated for a moment, but then joined Hatchet by the cornucopia.

"Deal."

* * *

 **Demetrius Ashworth, 37  
** **District Two**

Sometimes the obvious choice was the right one.

Demetrius nodded along as Cedra gave her report: the Careers had left Hatchet alone to guard the cornucopia. She had piled up some of the bodies to look like guards, but it hadn't been enough to fool Cedra, who had quickly returned. If she was upset by the idea of killing an old woman, she was doing her best not to show it. Maybe they all were. If they were going to convince the audience they had a chance, they couldn't afford to be squeamish about killing _anyone._ Even Hatchet.

"So it should be pretty easy," Cedra finished. "We go in, we kill Hatchet, we take what we need, and we get out of there."

"Or we stay," Gareth offered. "What's to stop us from staying at the cornucopia if we want?"

"Nothing, really," Demetrius agreed. "But why would we want to? We have a source of water here. Between the four of us, we can carry back enough food and supplies to last us a while. Staying at the cornucopia would only make us a target."

Gareth shrugged. "You're the Career."

Demetrius glanced around at the others. What was that supposed to mean? Sure, he was a Career, but so were Freya and Cedra. And all of them had won the Games once. His opinion shouldn't count any more than theirs.

Or maybe Gareth was being sarcastic. He hadn't exactly been acting much like a Career so far. He'd gotten injured in the bloodbath. He'd been upset about having to kill Hadrian. And he'd sent Cedra to scout out the cornucopia instead of going himself. Demetrius clenched his teeth as he stood, his arm still protesting as he gripped his axe tightly. It was time to start acting like Careers.

Cautiously, the four of them made their way down the passageway towards the cornucopia. Cedra was glancing around nervously, but Demetrius doubted anyone would attack them. Between his axe, Gareth's cleaver, Freya's sword, and Cedra's rapier, the four of them were well-armed. _He_ certainly wouldn't want to attack them if he was alone.

But he wasn't alone. He was part of the pack. Maybe the leader of the pack. Finally, the four of them reached the cavern where the cornucopia sat, the supplies still arranged around it and largely untouched. Demetrius glanced inside. Sure enough, Hatchet was sitting beside the cornucopia. Four bodies were positioned nearby, holding weapons – a sword, a spear, a dagger, and a crossbow, all pointed in different directions. Demetrius shook his head. Had she really thought that would fool them?

He glanced at Cedra, Freya, and Gareth. Freya and Gareth nodded, but Cedra's eyes were wide. "Something's wrong," she whispered.

Demetrius shook his head. She was overreacting. Or maybe she simply didn't want to attack Hatchet. Now that he thought of it, why hadn't she simply killed Hatchet on her own when he had sent her to scout out the cornucopia? He'd given her a chance to prove herself, and what had she done? Run back to the pack.

Back to him.

Now it was his turn to prove himself. Demetrius shook his head. "Fine. I'll do it."

With that, he turned and raced towards the cornucopia. Hatchet immediately stood up, startled, raising a spear to defend herself. Demetrius kept running.

Before he could make it to where Hatchet stood, however, something came flying towards him. But not from Hatchet's direction. One of the bodies. The one with the crossbow. A bolt came flying towards him.

He couldn't dodge quickly enough.

* * *

 **Hatchet Ford, 77  
** **District Seven**

It seemed so obvious now that she thought about it.

Hatchet gripped her spear tightly as she rushed towards Demetrius, who was still staggering forward despite the bolt Euclid had buried in his chest. Her spear had a longer reach than his axe, though, and he didn't have the strength left to deflect the blow. Her spear plunged into his chest as she put all the weight she could behind it.

She hadn't been expecting Demetrius. She had been expecting Cedra to return with Freya. But it was obvious now. Of course they would have found each other, after running off in the same direction. Of course they would ally rather than fighting each other – just as she and Euclid had.

Euclid. Hatchet glanced frantically over at Euclid as Demetrius' cannon sounded. Euclid was racing for the nearest passageway, a backpack he had stuffed full of canteens flung over his back, even as Cedra and Gareth rushed into the cavern. It had been her idea for him to pose as one of the dead bodies, and his shot couldn't have been truer. But crossbows took a long time to reload, and she wasn't even sure Euclid would know how, much less be able to in the middle of a fight.

"Go!" Hatchet called. "I'll be fine!"

It was a lie – and a pretty desperate one, at that – but Euclid kept running. And why not? They weren't allies, after all. Not really. She had asked him to help fight _two_ tributes, not four. And she had assumed that, once one was gone, the other one would run. But that wasn't going to happen.

She could only hope that Euclid would get away.

Cedra charged, while Gareth raced after Euclid. The younger tribute reached Hatchet before she even had a chance to pull her spear out of Demetrius' chest. Maybe that was for the best; it was too heavy, anyway. As she dodged Cedra's first blow, Hatchet scooped up a dagger from the ground, where she had left it just in case.

But Cedra was younger. Faster. The second blow came before Hatchet even saw it, Cedra's rapier plunging deep into her thigh. Hatchet cried out in pain, lashing out blindly as she fell to her knees, blood seeping from the wound, waiting for the next blow.

At least it came quickly.

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 21  
** **District Four**

It should have been obvious.

Cedra clenched her teeth as she plunged her rapier deep into Hatchet's chest. _Boom._ The sound of the cannon shook the tunnels, but it sounded hollow. Demetrius was dead.

It was his own damn fault, of course. He should have listened. She'd tried to warn him that something was wrong. She hadn't been able to place what it was – not until Euclid had fired his crossbow – but all of her instincts had been screaming not to go into the cavern.

But it hadn't made one bit of difference. Demetrius hadn't listened. Maybe he had wanted to prove himself. Maybe he had thought she was being paranoid. And maybe she was. But, if so, then that paranoia had saved her life.

But not his.

Cedra shook the thought from her head. It didn't matter. Shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter that he was dead. They hadn't exactly been friends. They hadn't even been allies until the previous day. Not like her and Freya…

Freya. Cedra glanced around as Gareth came running back, apparently abandoning his chase after Euclid. Where was Freya? Had she gone after him, too? Was she still chasing him? Cedra shook her head. She had been so focused on Hatchet, she had just assumed that Freya had joined the fight, as well. "Have you seen Freya?"

Gareth shook his head. "I thought she was with you."

But she wasn't. Cedra glanced back towards the passageway they had used to enter the cavern. There was no sign of Freya. And standing on the sidelines just watching the fight didn't sound like her. Then again, she certainly hadn't charged in…

Cedra gripped her rapier tightly, making her way towards the supplies surrounding the cornucopia. "Come on. We came here for a reason. Let's find what we came for."

What they came for. They had come to find light – some sort of light to hunt by at night. But that had been the plan when there had been four of them. Now that there were only two…

Three. Freya would come back. Maybe she had seen someone else in one of the other passageways. Maybe Euclid hadn't been alone. There hadn't been any other cannons. Only two – one for Demetrius and one for Hatchet. So she was still alive, somewhere.

Cedra just wished she knew where.

* * *

 **Gareth Arch, 37  
** **District Ten**

It should have been obvious from the start.

Gareth shook his head as he and Cedra sorted through the supplies. Cedra had been insistent that Freya would return, but it was obvious what had happened. She had seen them attacking an old woman and a broken young Victor, and she had been disgusted. She had run away. And she certainly wasn't coming back.

But he knew better than to say so to Cedra – at least not yet. He didn't want to lose the only ally he had left, now that Demetrius was gone. But maybe Cedra was the more valuable ally, anyway. She hadn't hesitated to do what needed to be done, even though her opponent had been a sweet old woman. She had done what was necessary, and she had done it quickly. Sure, she was nervous and a bit jumpy, but she had come through when it counted.

That was all he really needed.

"I don't see any lights," Cedra said at last, frustrated. Gareth nodded. Maybe that shouldn't have been a surprise. If there had been any in the first place, the other Careers had probably taken them when they had left. But maybe now that they'd killed, the sponsors would eventually send them _something_. Now that they'd proven they could do more than simply run away from the bloodbath and ally themselves with every tribute they came across.

Then again, the attack hadn't exactly been a success. Demetrius was dead, and Freya had fled. "Let's take some supplies and get out of here, then," Gareth suggested. "We don't want to be here when the other three get back."

"But what about Freya?"

"She knows where to find us." That was certainly true – but not much of a threat. If Freya had been hesitant to attack Hatchet, she certainly wasn't going to turn on them – or tell anyone else where they were. Besides, the Careers would never expect them to stay so close to the cornucopia. It was the obvious place to hide.

But sometimes the obvious plan worked.

* * *

 **Maximus Kellen, 52  
** **District Eight**

Sometimes the obvious plan worked.

Maximus glanced at Aelin and Clark as a second cannon sounded. The second cannon in the span of a few minutes, and the third since they had left the cornucopia. Maybe it was a good thing they'd left when they had. It would certainly be a surprise if they returned to find Hatchet still guarding the cornucopia without a scratch.

Because everyone knew that now would be the time to attack the cornucopia. They knew the Careers would be hunting. That was what Careers were expected to do. Otherwise, the Gamemakers unfailingly sent mutts to get them going. They were the ones who were expected to move the Games along, and when they didn't, there were consequences.

Consequences they wouldn't have to face, because they had left. And if Hatchet was the one who had to pay the price for it … well, better her than him. He certainly wouldn't have wanted to stay at the cornucopia alone, but _someone_ had to.

Didn't they?

Maybe. Maybe not. It seemed like such an obvious thing to do that no one thought about it anymore. Someone had to stay to … what? Keep the other tributes from getting the supplies? But what was one tribute – _any_ tribute – supposed to do if a group of three or four came looking for supplies? _Anyone_ would have been outnumbered.

Maximus turned his club over in his hands. That wasn't his problem. Hatchet wasn't his problem. Even Aelin and Clark weren't his problem. _Couldn't_ be his problem if he wanted to survive this.

"Directions would be nice," Aelin grumbled as they came to another fork in the path. "Or a map or something."

Maximus chuckled a little. She wasn't just complaining. She was hoping the sponsors would respond by sending something. But that wasn't likely – not yet. Not until they proved they were worth sponsoring. And what had they done so far? They had lost one ally during the bloodbath. They had left another to guard the cornucopia alone. They had probably left her to die. No, if they wanted sponsors, they would have to earn them.

But he didn't say so. Aelin knew it as well as he did. Probably better. After all, she'd gotten sponsors during her Games; he hadn't. So if anyone knew what they were doing…

Maximus gripped his club tightly. She didn't know any better than he did. He'd won the Games, after all – just the same as her. Just the same as any of them. Maybe he didn't have any kills yet, but he'd saved his allies' lives. That had to count for something.

But, in the end, it didn't. At the end of the Games, it didn't matter how many times the Victor had saved their allies. It didn't even matter how many tributes they had killed – not really. All that mattered was that they were alive. It didn't matter if Aelin had more kills. It didn't matter if Clark was only alive because of him. In the end, the only thing that mattered was who survived.

And he meant for it to be him.

* * *

 **Freya Basnett, 44  
** **District Two**

Had it been obvious to everyone else?

Freya took a deep breath as she finally slowed to a walk. It felt like she had been running for hours. Maybe days. Maybe she had been running even longer than she'd thought. Running away from the Victor – the Career – that the Capitol expected her to be.

They were only doing what was expected. Cedra had only been doing what she thought was necessary when she had attacked Hatchet. Gareth had been doing what he had known the Capitol wanted when he ran after Euclid. But that wasn't who she was anymore.

And it wasn't who she wanted to be.

Freya clenched her fists, leaning back against the wall as she sank to the ground. She had decided to ally with Cedra because she had been hoping to avoid this sort of situation. But she couldn't. She would never be able to run away – not from the Games. Not from this. Not from who she was.

No. Not who she was. Who she used to be. They could dress her up, put her back in the arena, surround her by people who were willing to kill … but that didn't make her one of them … not any more. She didn't have to do any of this. She didn't have to _be_ any of this. It was her choice.

The other option wasn't appealing, of course, but it was still her choice. Fight or die – that was the only real choice in the Games. And if she wasn't willing to fight…

Then she was going to die. Freya took a deep breath. Okay. Maybe that was okay. She wasn't going to make it out of the Games. Maybe it was better if she accepted that. After all, twenty-three of them weren't going to make it out. Whether she fought or not, she was probably going to die.

So where was the harm in doing what she felt was right? Why not simply avoid the others as long as she could? It meant death, certainly, but so did almost everything else. What were the chances that, even if she fought, she would be the one walking out of the arena alive?

Slowly, Freya stood up again and began making her way down the passageway. They could force her to be here. But they couldn't force her to kill. They couldn't force her to do what they wanted. They couldn't force her to do _anything_.

And maybe that was enough of a victory

* * *

 **Ebony Kracov, 19  
** **District Nine**

It was obvious what the sound was.

Ebony gripped Cadaya's hand tightly as the two of them made their way down the passageway as quietly as they could. They'd heard footsteps a few minutes ago – several pairs, from the sound of it. There were only so many larger groups in the arena, and only one that would be moving so quickly, so confidently. The Careers were following them.

But which group of Careers?

Ebony glanced up at Cadaya. Maybe it didn't matter which group was following them. Sure, Maximus had joined up with one group of Careers, but would that really matter if they caught up to them? Maybe Maximus would be a little hesitant to kill his district partner. Maybe that would be enough to save Cadaya's life. But that wasn't going to save her.

And it probably wouldn't save Cadaya, either. Maximus was her district partner, but how much did that really mean once they were in the Games? If it came down to Maximus' life or Cadaya's, she had no doubt that Maximus would choose his own life. Just as she would, if it came down to her or Aras, or even her or Cadaya…

"We should split up," Cadaya gasped as the pair came to a fork in the passageway. One path veered right, another left, and a third continued straight.

Ebony turned, surprised. "Why?" she started to ask, but then she did the math. There were two of them. Three paths. The Careers could only follow one. They had no weapons. No way to defend themselves. If the Careers caught them both, they were as good as dead. But if they only caught one of them…

Then the other one would live. Ebony glanced up at Cadaya. Was she trying to protect her? Or trying to save her own life? Ebony took a deep breath. "I'll go left."

"I'll go straight," Cadaya nodded. "Tomorrow morning, we backtrack our way back to here, as long as…"

She didn't say the rest. As long as they didn't see each other's faces that night. As long as neither of them died. Ebony swallowed hard. "Good luck."

"You, too."

With that, they took off in separate directions. Ebony clenched her fists tightly. She had a better chance now. There were three paths. The Careers could only follow one – as long as they wanted to stay together, at least. If they split up…

No. No, they wouldn't do that. Careers hunted in packs; that was what they did. There was no reason for them to split up. No reason they would have to. They would follow one of the paths. They would find her, or they would find Cadaya. Or they would find no one.

Those were the only options.

* * *

 **Jasper Ivener  
** **District Eight Mentor**

Sometimes the obvious option was the wrong one.

Jasper glanced over at Simeon, who was wringing his hands nervously as he watched the screen, with Barric sitting silently alongside. He had to admit, he wasn't sure he would have made the same choice Ebony and Cadaya had. Whether it was the right choice, he wasn't sure. But it was certainly the most practical choice – and maybe even the bravest one. Most tributes in their position would have wanted to stay with their ally, even if there wasn't really any way for them to defend themselves. Even if there wasn't really any strength in their numbers.

But Ebony and Cadaya had both figured it out. Two of them. Three passageways. If they stayed together, maybe the odds were against the Careers choosing the right tunnel … but the Games weren't really about the odds. The Gamemakers could – and probably would – steer the Careers in the right direction. But if they split up, the Careers had a better chance of choosing the right tunnel on their own, and the Gamemakers might leave them to their own devices.

Jasper shook his head, not really sure what to hope for. If the Careers kept going straight, and they found Cadaya, at least it would be over quickly. Simeon wouldn't have to watch the whole Games in suspense, wondering whether the woman who had essentially adopted him would survive, when it was clear that she didn't have it in her. But for Maximus to be part of the group that would kill her … could he handle that?

Could either of them?

But if they went after Ebony, instead, Cadaya would almost certainly blame herself when the girl inevitably died. Neither of them stood a chance against three armed Careers. And if the Careers went right – if they chose the third passage – then would the Gamemakers send something worse after them?

Or would they let it be? There had certainly been enough action already, and the day wasn't even half over. They didn't really need to force a confrontation – not yet. Maybe the Careers wouldn't find anyone.

Jasper leaned back in his chair. There wasn't anything he could do about it, one way or the other. Aelin, Maximus, and Clark were quickly approaching the intersection where Ebony and Cadaya had parted. Soon, they would have to choose, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He would just have to hope they made the right choice.

But he wasn't even certain what the right choice was.

* * *

" _You know what I hate about the obvious?"  
_ " _What?"  
_ " _Missing it!"_


	31. The Right Moves

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Results of the final eight poll are up on the blog. New poll on my profile, this time asking which district pair is your favorite. Use whatever criteria you like for this. At this point, it's not likely to have any effect on the Games, but I'm curious.

* * *

 **Day Two  
** **The Right Moves**

* * *

 **Jay Royal  
** **District One Mentor**

"It makes you wonder, doesn't it."

Jay glanced up from his drink as Genesis took a seat beside him. "Makes you wonder what?"

"What you would do – if it were you back in the arena, instead. Not that I want to be, but still … you can't help but wonder how you would have fared, instead. Would you still be alive? Would you make the same decisions? How would it feel?"

Jay shook his head. If he was the one in the arena – if Hadrian hadn't volunteered – then Hadrian would still be alive. But as awful as he felt about his mentor's death, he wouldn't have wanted their places to be exchanged. There was no guarantee that he would have survived the Games. Hadrian had known what he was doing. He had known he probably wouldn't come out of the arena alive. And he had made the decision, anyway – for Jay's sake.

Now it was up to him to make it worth it.

Jay watched Genesis curiously. "What would you have done – if they had called your name? Would you have let Aelin volunteer for you?"

Genesis nodded. "I don't think I would have had much say in the matter. She wasn't volunteering _for_ anyone. No one except herself, that is. She wanted to be back in there. And maybe she's crazy, but … well, I'm glad it's her. It's what she wants." She shook her head. "I don't envy the choice they're going to have to make, though."

"What choice?"

"Once they get to that intersection. I know what _I_ would do – or, at least, what I would have done back in the day – but I don't know if it's the right choice or not."

"What would you have done?"

Genesis smiled a little. "Three paths. Three Careers. I would have told the pack to split up, kill whoever they came across. Then again, I was a bit more ambitious back in those days – and maybe a bit overconfident. I would have been certain that one Career would be enough to handle any tribute I came across – or maybe even two or three."

"But there's only one in each direction," Jay pointed out. "They could handle that."

"But they don't _know_ that," Genesis agreed. "For all they know, there could be a group of three down one of those paths. Sticking together and picking one of the paths – that would be the safest thing. But you don't make it far in the Games if you always do the safest thing. And it certainly doesn't grab the audience's attention the way a bold move like splitting up would."

Jay shook his head. "Do you think that's what they'll do?"

"I think that's what Aelin will suggest. Whether the others will go along with it … I don't know."

Jay nodded. She had a point. The others – Clark and Maximus – weren't really Careers. Would they really understand the benefits of splitting up at this point? Then again, Ebony and Cadaya had figured it out. Maybe Clark and Maximus would, too.

Jay took another drink. Maybe it didn't matter. There had already been quite a bit of action; the Gamemakers probably weren't desperate enough to start herding tributes together quite yet. Even if they stayed together, and even if they chose the wrong path – the one neither Ebony nor Cadaya had followed – there was no guarantee of any consequences from the Gamemakers.

It was still early.

* * *

 **Aelin Kuang, 60  
** **District One**

She couldn't help wondering if there was something more she could be doing.

Aelin shook her head as the passageway continued on. How long had it been since they had left the cornucopia? Hours? It felt like it must have been most of the day. They had stopped for a break a little while ago at a shallow pool of water and eaten some of the food they had brought. But they didn't seem to be any closer to finding anyone.

Aelin sighed and gripped her spear tightly. Maybe it wasn't really a surprise that they hadn't found anyone. Between her spear, Clark's axe, and Maximus' club, they were quite the intimidating group. Any tributes who happened to see them would probably scurry away immediately.

But she hadn't heard anything that sounded like tributes running away. In fact, the arena had been absolutely – almost disturbingly – quiet. Where _was_ everyone?

Just as she was about to suggest that maybe they should head back to the cornucopia and strike out in a different direction, however, Clark pointed up ahead, where the path split into three different passageways. Aelin smiled. That looked a bit more promising. There was no guarantee, of course, that there were tributes down any of those passageways, but three options were better than one.

Then again, three options were only better if they followed all of them.

Maximus glanced in her direction. "What do you think?"

Aelin hesitated. Were they leaving it up to her? Sure enough, Clark had turned to her, as well, waiting for a decision. Maybe that made sense. She was the only actual Career in the group, after all.

Aelin bit her lip. She knew what she _wanted_ to do. But would they go for it?

 _Stop it._ She couldn't keep worrying about what they would think. If they weren't willing to follow her instructions, then they shouldn't have asked. "I think we should split up," she said at last. "Each of us should take a passage. If we hear a cannon, we head back here – we'll assume it means someone found what they were looking for."

"Or someone else found us," Maximus pointed out. "Do you really think—"

"I'll take the path on the left," Clark offered before Maximus could finish his sentence.

Maximus glared, but finally nodded, conceding. "I'll go straight," he agreed gruffly.

Aelin nodded. "Now, don't do anything stupid. If you run into a group of three or four, just come back, but if it's one or two – well, use your own discretion." There were still other Careers out there, after all. Demetrius. Freya. Cedra. Even Galen and his group could be dangerous, in a pinch. They were already down to four Careers. Maybe even three, if one of the recent cannons had been Hatchet's. They couldn't afford to take stupid chances.

Aelin gripped her spear as she headed for the right-hand passageway. If they couldn't afford to take stupid chances, then why had she suggested splitting up? It would have been safer to stay together.

But the Games were rarely won by the tributes who did what was safer. Hell, if she had really wanted to be safe, she could have just stayed in District One. She hadn't volunteered for the Games a second time because she had wanted safety. She had wanted the excitement back. The glory. The feeling of power that had rushed through her with every kill during her first Games.

And she had to admit, she felt some of that. As she made her way farther into the passageway, the adrenaline began pumping again – just as it had so many years ago. She felt something she hadn't really felt back in District One. She felt _alive_.

And that feeling was worth any risk.

* * *

 **Clark Tierney, 23  
** **District Seven**

He couldn't help wondering why Aelin had suggested this.

Clark shifted his axe in his hands as he continued onward in the dark. He had gone along with her suggestion, but not because he had thought it was a good idea. It would look good for the audience if he was willing to take a risk on his own, rather than simply staying with the group. If both he and Maximus had disagreed, they might have been able to convince Aelin that staying together was the best course of action, but they would have ended up looking cautious.

And maybe that was why Aelin had suggested splitting up in the first place. Caution was all well and good, but no one really won the Games by being cautious. They won by taking risks.

Clark took a deep breath. Winning wasn't just about taking risks. It was about knowing _which_ risks to take. And this … was this one of the right risks?

Clark gripped the handle of his axe as tightly as he could. It was too late to ask that now. If he turned back now, he wouldn't just look cautious. He would look like a coward. And that was something he definitely couldn't afford.

So he kept walking. One step forward. Then another. The path curved farther and farther to the left, until he was pretty sure he was actually walking back in the direction he had come from. But at least he wouldn't get lost. The path hadn't split since he had left Aelin and Maximus. When he needed to make his way back, it would be a simple matter of turning around and going the other way.

When he needed to make his way back. Clark swallowed hard. He just hoped he would get the chance. Maybe he would get lucky. Maybe there was no one down this path. Maybe he would hear a cannon soon – a cannon that would tell him that either Maximus or Aelin had found a tribute.

But he couldn't count on that. Clark wiped the sweat from his forehead. The passageway was getting strangely warm. Almost as if…

Then he saw it up ahead – some sort of pit, filled with a glowing red liquid. Lava, or something similar – and it seemed to be spreading. And standing there at the edge, trying to figure out a way to get to the other side, was a tribute. Clark froze. From this distance, he couldn't quite tell who it was. Judging from the long hair, it was probably one of the female tributes, but he couldn't quite tell who…

Then she turned, and he could. Ebony. She took a step back – towards the lava, but not too close. There was no way around the pit – at least, not that he could see. She was trapped. Clark took one step closer. Then another. Slowly. She didn't appear to be armed, but that didn't mean anything. She could have a knife hidden somewhere. But he would have to get close in order for her to use it.

Ebony's eyes darted back and forth, scouring the passageway behind him. It took Clark a moment to realize why. She had no way of knowing he was alone. For all she knew, the rest of the Careers were right behind him. So she probably wouldn't try to run past him – not into what could be an ambush.

Clark took a step closer. "Glad I found you first. I promise I'll make it quick – quicker than they would." He nodded toward the passageway behind him.

"Let's get this over with."

* * *

 **Ebony Kracov, 19  
** **District Nine**

She couldn't help wondering whether Cadaya would be all right.

Ebony swallowed hard as Clark took another step closer. If she could trust what he had just said, the other Careers were close behind him. Aelin, Maximus, Hatchet – they could be right around the corner. Did that mean Cadaya was safe?

But there wasn't time to worry about that now. Right now, it didn't matter whether Cadaya was safe or not. All that mattered was whether or not _she_ was going to be able to survive this. And it wasn't looking good.

Okay. No weapons. Nowhere to run. Lava behind her. Clark and maybe the other Careers in front of her. No, it wasn't looking good at all.

Ebony took another step backward. If she wasn't going to try to run past him, then she might as well let him come to her. There was no getting past the lava that was creeping towards the two of them. But maybe she would get lucky…

She would have to get _very_ lucky.

 _Think._

Okay. He had an axe. What did she have?

She didn't have much time to think about it, because he swung. She dodged, but, even so, the blow grazed her shirt, slicing through a bit of fabric. Ebony dodged again, and again, then reached down and tore a bit of the fabric from her shirt. If he would just get close enough…

Frustrated with their little dance, Clark took a step forward, carefully avoiding stepping in the lava with his bare feet. Ebony ducked, reaching down, dipping the strip of fabric in the lava and swinging it up into Clark's face. The lava made a sharp, sizzling sound as it struck his cheek. Startled, Clark took a step back, his axe swinging wildly as he let out a cry of surprise and pain. Ebony easily dodged, then sprang forward, gripping the axe.

She could have run. But there were still three Careers who could be coming. If she could just get his weapon, then she might stand a chance.

But Clark held on firmly. For a moment, the pair struggled, shoving the axe forward and back, each trying to gain the upper hand. But both held on tightly as they turned this way and that, unwilling to let go. Letting to now would mean death.

Wouldn't it?

Then, just as suddenly as she had grabbed the axe, Clark let go, immediately lunging beneath the blade and crashing into her before she even had a chance to swing. The pair of them toppled backwards.

It was only as she landed that Ebony realized what _backwards_ meant.

He landed on top of her. But that wasn't the problem. It was what she had landed _in_. Ebony screamed as she sank into the thin layer of lava that had spread to coat the floor of the cave. Clark scrambled to his feet, backing up away from the flames, clutching his palms, brushing the burning cloth away from his knees. But her body had saved him from the worst of the flames.

But there was nothing there to save her. Pain coursed through her as the lava ate away at both her clothing and her flesh. She tried to stand. Tried to sit up, to free herself from the flames, but the fiery liquid seemed to hold her to the floor of the cave. She screamed. She couldn't help it. The pain – it was like nothing she'd ever felt. Even during her own Games, she had never come this close to—

To death, she realized as Clark lifted his axe. This was what death felt like. She could feel the tears in her eyes as the fire burned deeper and deeper into her back, her arms, her legs. Death would be better than this. "Please," she whispered as she saw Clark hesitate. "Please, just do it."

He did.

* * *

 **Maximus Kellen, 52  
** **District Eight**

He wondered whose cannon it was.

Maximus couldn't help flinching as the sound echoed through the caverns. Had Aelin found someone? Had Clark? Or was it something else entirely, on the other side of the arena? He had no way of knowing.

Maximus turned the club over in his hands. It didn't matter whose cannon it was. Aelin had said to turn around and regroup once they heard a cannon. And since there was no way of knowing _whose_ cannon it was, maybe it was better to err on the side of caution.

Maximus clenched his teeth. He was tired of being cautious. Maybe that was why he hadn't kept arguing with Aelin when she had suggested splitting up. It wasn't the best idea, maybe, but, apparently, it had already paid off – assuming the cannon belonged to someone that either Clark or Aelin had found.

Of course, there was always the other possibility – the chance that maybe it had belonged to Clark or Aelin. It wasn't a very appealing possibility, but there was always the chance. If Aelin had run into a younger tribute who happened to be armed, or if Clark had been outnumbered, then the cannon could have been one of theirs.

But at least it hadn't been his.

Maximus gripped his club. It would be easy to turn back now. But if the cannon _had_ belonged to a tribute that either Aelin or Clark had found, then there was no harm in continuing a little longer. Sure, he might not find any tributes, but maybe there was something else in the caves. Something that could help them. It just didn't feel right to return empty-handed.

He could keep going a _little_ longer.

Maximus sighed. One more cannon – no matter whose it was – meant one less tribute. Nine tributes dead. That meant only fifteen of them were left. Fifteen tributes. And he was one of them.

Not bad at all.

Just then, he heard something. Up ahead. Breathing. Loud and ragged – like someone trying to catch their breath. Maximus smiled a little. So there _was_ someone up ahead. And if they were already tired … well, all the better. He gripped his club tighter and made his way forward.

This was going to be easier than he'd thought.

The path widened up ahead, splitting in two. One passageway was glowing red, the other yellow. Maximus shook his head. This time, he couldn't take both. He would have to choose.

"Ready?" A whisper came from the right-hand cavern. "I think they're coming."

"Shhh," came what sounded almost like a second voice.

Almost. Maximus smiled a little. It was a nice trick. And it might have worked on someone else – trying to convince him that there was more than one person in the tunnel ahead. But that was exactly the same sort of trick that several of their tributes had used.

Exactly the same sort of trick that Lavinia had taught them both.

* * *

 **Cadaya Kallier, 43  
** **District Eight**

She had wondered whether that was going to work or not.

Cadaya took a deep breath as the footsteps kept coming. For a moment, she had thought that maybe her plan would work. That maybe if she pretended she had someone with her, that would be enough to scare away whoever was following her. Apparently, the thought of taking on two tributes at once hadn't been enough to frighten away her pursuer.

It had been worth a try.

Cadaya crouched lower against the wall, her mind racing. She could try to keep running. But whoever was behind her was so close already. They would almost certainly catch her. And when they did, she would have a better chance if she wasn't already completely exhausted from running.

A better chance. But what chance did she really have? She didn't have a weapon – nothing except the rock in her hand that she'd swiped from the floor of the cavern. She could throw it, of course, but her aim would have to be perfect in order for it to do any good.

She didn't trust her aim that much.

Cadaya watched as the outline of the tribute crept closer down the tunnel. She couldn't tell yet who it was, but they had some sort of weapon. Something heavy – a club, maybe, or a mace. She certainly didn't want to let him get too close.

Him. Yes, it was a him, she realized as the figure came closer. In fact…

"Maximus?" The word left her mouth before she even realized she was saying it aloud.

The tribute stopped for a moment. "Cadaya."

It wasn't a question. He knew. Maybe he had known from the start. Maybe that was why he hadn't been fooled by her little trick. Cadaya swallowed hard. "Maximus, we don't have to fight. Just let me go, and—"

"And what?" Maximus' words cut through the darkness of the cave like a knife. "We can just go our separate ways and hope we don't see each other again?"

Cadaya took a step backwards. That sounded pretty good to her. But she knew better. The Gamemakers wouldn't let them simply walk away. One word from the Gamemakers, and a mutt could come to block her path, or the rocks could simply cave in and trap them. This was a fight that had to happen.

And it was a fight she had to win.

She charged as quickly as she could. He wasn't expecting that. He wasn't expecting a rock to come flying towards his head. But he dodged in time, anyway, swinging his club as she passed. She dodged, and, for a moment, she considered trying to run. Trying to lead him back to where Ebony might be waiting.

But something stopped her. There was no guarantee that Ebony was there. And if he was here, then…

Then maybe his allies were dead – which was probably too much to hope for. Or maybe they were behind him – which seemed unlikely, since Clark was younger and Aelin was more fit. Or maybe they had split up.

Which meant the Ebony could very well be dead. That last cannon could have been hers. And if she ran back towards where they had parted ways, then she might find herself facing three or four tributes instead of just one. Instead of just Maximus.

So she whirled around as quickly as she could, diving low as Maximus swung his club again. The club struck her in the side, but, even as it did, she reached out and grabbed ahold of it. Startled, Maximus didn't have time to let go as both of them crumpled to the ground, Cadaya's arms wrapped tightly around the club as she lashed out at Maximus, kicking him in the stomach.

Only when she saw his fist coming towards her face did Cadaya realize he must have let go of the club. Blood filled her mouth at his fist found her cheek. Cadaya coughed, but managed to roll out of the way of his next punch, still clutching the club tightly. As long as he couldn't use it…

Maximus tried to scramble to his feet, but she swung the club, instead, aiming for his leg. He tried to dodge, but wasn't quite quick enough. The club connected with a sickening crack, and Maximus toppled, off-balance, on top of her. Cadaya gasped as he landed, but quickly heaved the club out of reach, wrapping her hands around his neck from behind.

Maximus gave a muffled cry, and Cadaya squeezed harder. Harder. His screams became a terrible choking sound. Cadaya closed her eyes. She didn't want to see. But she didn't let go.

Not until the cannon sounded.

* * *

 **Camryn Cartier, 34  
** **District Six**

She wondered how many cannons there had been.

Camryn groaned softly as she rolled over, half-surprised she was even alive. The cannon had woken her, but it hadn't been the first. Or maybe it had. Had she imagined the others? Had she dreamt them? Or had they been real? She had no way of knowing. No way of knowing how long it had been.

Slowly, she struggled to sit up. It was only then that she realized that her knife was gone. Panicked, she glanced around for any sign of it. It couldn't have simply disappeared. And if another tribute had taken it…

If they had taken it, why hadn't they killed her?

Camryn shook her head as she lay back down, too exhausted to care. She was still alive, but that was all she had going for her, unless…

Just then, she heard footsteps. Every muscle in her body tensed. This was it. Someone was coming. Someone had found her. If they were going to kill her, there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing at all. Even rolling over had hurt so much. Maybe it would be better if someone simply came and ended it.

The footsteps came closer. Closer. In the dark, she could only see the outline of a tribute. But that was enough. Enough to tell that someone was there. He had a knife – and something else. Breathless, he knelt by her side. "I'm back."

Back? Camryn blinked, confused. But then he produced a water bottle from the backpack he was carrying. Gently, he poured some water into her mouth and helped her sit up. Only then did she finally catch a glimpse of his face. "Euclid? What are you doing?"

Euclid smiled a little. "Helping you."

"Why?"

Stupid question. If he wanted to help her – whatever the reason – she was hardly in a position to refuse. Maybe it didn't matter why.

Euclid shook his head. "I … I want to."

Okay, then.

"I went back to the cornucopia," Euclid continued. "I thought … silly. I thought there might be something back there that would—"

Before he could finish his sentence, however, he was interrupted by a soft pinging noise. They both looked around for the noise, and a crack opened in the ceiling above them. A parachute with a small package attached dropped gently into Camryn's lap. A number three was on both the package and the parachute. Camryn managed a smile as she handed it to Euclid. "I think this is for you." Whatever he had done back at the cornucopia, it must have impressed the sponsors.

Euclid carefully opened the package, then broke into a grin. "Actually, it's for you." He produced a small syringe, filled with some sort of liquid. "I went back there looking for medicine – for something to help you heal faster. I think … I think that's what they sent."

Camryn eyed the package skeptically. Would they really have done that? Would his mentor really have sent him something to help _her_ survive? It didn't make sense. Then again, most of the things Euclid said didn't make sense. Finally, she nodded. "Thank you."

Euclid handed her the syringe. "I'm … not good with needles."

Camryn smiled a little. That wasn't particularly surprising. As carefully as she could, she injected herself, then lay back down to rest.

Things were finally starting to look better.

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

He couldn't help wondering what had really happened to Felix.

Valion glanced over at Shyanne as the three of them made their way through the tunnel. She hadn't said much – not since saying that she had killed Felix – and he didn't want to press her. Besides, if she was lying, it was probably for the audience's sake, and questioning her story wouldn't help either of them.

And it certainly wasn't going to help Felix. Either way, he was dead. And the audience had apparently forgiven Shyanne for whatever part they thought she might have played in Evo's little rebellion. They had sent her a gift, after all. Tributes who weren't in the Capitol's favor generally didn't merit sponsor gifts.

Then again, what 'generally' happened in the Games didn't really seem to matter much this year. There was generally food and water enough to keep the tributes going, but they hadn't seen so much as a drop of water since leaving the cornucopia. If they didn't find something soon…

But the sponsors hadn't sent them food or water. They had sent a light. The only reason light would be a priority over water would be if there was some nearby. So the three of them had kept moving, hoping to find something. But the lights were starting to get dimmer again, and there was still no sign of—

"Water!" Shyanne called suddenly, then immediately clapped a hand over her mouth as her shout continued to echo through the cave.

But she was right. There was water ahead. Some sort of pool or even a small lake, ahead of them in an open cavern. Shyanne rushed forward. "Wait!" Valion called. Anything could be waiting for them ahead. Or any _one_.

But nothing happened. Shyanne reached the pool and waved them forward, grinning. "Come on!" She plunged her hands in and drank her fill. Valion finally smiled a little as he took a seat beside her, cupping his hands and drinking. The water had a strange taste, but it was cool and refreshing.

Valion glanced around the cavern. It was rather large. And a little too open for his tastes. But there didn't appear to be anyone else in the area.

And, even if there was, would they really attack a group of three tributes? There had been ten cannons so far, which meant there were only fourteen tributes left. They could easily be the largest – or certainly _one_ of the largest – groups left in the arena.

Which meant they couldn't stay here at this pool of water forever. The lights were beginning to dim again; most tributes would be stopping to rest. But they had light. They couldn't afford to sit here and do nothing – not for long.

Eventually, they would have to make their move.

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

He couldn't help wondering where the spiders were leading them.

Galen took a few deep, gasping breaths as the three of them stopped briefly to rest. The spiders were still clambering quickly through the cavern. They certainly seemed to be in a hurry, but, so far, he hadn't seen anything to indicate what they were looking for, or where they were going. Jani had suggested that maybe they were heading for food or water, but they hadn't seen any sign of either since they'd started following the creatures, and all of them were beginning to tire.

But it was too late to turn back. They hadn't seen anything promising along the way, either. If they turned back now, they might die of thirst before they found anything. Or if another tribute found them, they might be too weak to fight back. No, the only option now was to keep going and hope that Jani was right.

"Ready?" Aras asked, indicating the path ahead of them. Galen clenched his teeth. He wasn't ready. Not at all. But he knew why Aras was eager to keep moving. The lights on the cavern walls were starting to fade. Night was coming again. In the dark, it would be easy to lose track of the spiders. Once dawn came again, there would be no sign left of their quarry but what bare rock could tell. The Gamemakers might even send the mutts back to attack them if they gave up their pursuit.

"Ready," Jani agreed, though he was clearly just as tired as any of them. Galen nodded reluctantly, and the three of them plunged onward into the dark.

As they pressed forward, however, Galen couldn't help but notice that it wasn't as dark up ahead. Instead of growing dimmer, the blue light up ahead seemed to be growing. Suddenly, he heard a noise. Some sort of scurrying – like the noise the spiders had been making, but decidedly louder. How many of them were there?

Galen glanced over at Aras, who quickly put a finger to his lips. Galen nodded, and, as quietly as they could, the three of them crept closer. The brighter blue light was coming from around the corner. Together, the three of them peered around the rocks. Galen struggled to hold back a gasp as his eyes finally adjusted to the light – blue and bright, coming from some sort of crystals inside the cavern.

But it wasn't the crystals that he was staring at. In the very center of the cavern sat a spider – larger than the others, and very plump. Other, smaller spiders – some the size that they had been following, some larger, some smaller – scurried around this way and that. In the center near the largest spider was a pool of water. Galen swallowed hard. Water. But how were they going to get to it?

So far, the spiders hadn't noticed them. But they all knew that would only last as long as the Gamemakers wanted it to. They weren't just going to be able to sneak in and get some water. They needed a plan.

"What do we do?" Jani asked before Galen could. A reasonable question; he just wished he had an answer. The pair of them looked to Aras, who smiled a little.

"I have an idea."

* * *

 **Charlie Smelt  
** **District Nine Mentor**

She couldn't help wondering what Aras' idea was.

Charlie shook her head as she watched the screen. If it was something he needed help with, he would have said so. Then again, he probably knew better than to rely on the sponsors to send them anything until they had done something to prove themselves. This was the perfect opportunity to do so. Sure, they weren't fighting other tributes, but if they could manage to steal water from under the noses of giant spider mutts, that had to count for something.

Didn't it?

Charlie shook her head. It was no use trying to figure out what Aras was planning. He and the others were talking in whispers. Either they were being too quiet for the cameras to pick them up, or the Gamemakers were deliberately allowing them to keep their secrets – at least for now. Aras would want the audience to be surprised. He always wanted to surprise people.

She just hoped his surprise wouldn't get him killed.

"It's almost exciting, isn't it." Charlie glanced over as Benton took a seat beside her. "The suspense, the thrill. They certainly know how to play to the audience – without having killed a single tribute so far."

Charlie nodded. He was right. Galen, Aras, and Jani hadn't killed anyone. They'd managed to keep the audience's interest by talking, following giant spiders, and … well, whatever it was they were planning to do now. Tributes always assumed that the audience would want to see them fight and kill other tributes. And that was always true eventually. But sometimes … well, sometimes a little light-hearted fun was enough to keep their interest for a while.

But it wouldn't last forever. They would have to fight eventually. Which meant they would need to keep up their strength. Which meant they would need water. So whatever Aras had planned, it undoubtedly involved a way to get past the spiders and to the water.

The other option, of course, was to _kill_ the spiders. That would certainly be more impressive, but also rather impractical. Killing _one_ spider might have been a possibility – and might have been what Aras, Galen, and Jani had assumed they would have to do when they had decided to follow the spiders. But there were dozens of spiders swarming around the cavern. Maybe even a hundred. Killing all of them was out of the question.

So sneaking past them it was. But how?

Benton took a drink. "I'm sorry about Ebony."

Charlie looked away. "It's not your fault. Clark did what he had to."

Benton shrugged. "Maybe. But that doesn't mean I can't be sorry about it. I'm sorry he had to. Just like I'm sorry he had to leave Hatchet behind at the cornucopia. We can't help what our tributes do in the Games. We might even have done the same thing ourselves. But that doesn't mean we can't regret it."

Charlie shook her head. She'd never had much use for regret – or much time. "Do you regret what … what you did during your Games?"

Benton nodded. "Every day. But I wouldn't change it. I'm alive because of what I did. I would do the same thing again. That doesn't change the fact that I wish it hadn't been necessary. Do I wish I hadn't spent days crawling around pretending to be a snake? You bet. It was worth it, but that doesn't make it right – or good."

Charlie stopped in the middle of a drink. "What did you say?"

"I said that doesn't make it right, or—"

Charlie shook her head. "No, not that. Never mind. I think I've figured it out."

Benton cocked an eyebrow. "Figured what out?"

"What Aras is planning."

* * *

" _The question is, is he making all the right moves, or only going through the motions?"_


	32. Enemies

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the "favorite district pair" poll if you haven't already.

* * *

 **Day Two  
** **Enemies**

* * *

 **Irina Powell  
** **District Eleven Mentor**

She just hoped the three of them knew what they were doing.

Irina drummed her fingers on the table as Jani, Galen, and Aras crept silently towards the spiders. It was quite a strange sight – three grown men on their hands and knees, making chattery spider noises, crawling towards the pack, trying to blend in. It might even have been funny, if she weren't so worried that their little stunt might end badly. If their lives didn't rest on the whims of the audience and the Gamemakers, and whether they thought Aras' idea was entertaining enough to let them live.

"Not a bad idea," Charlie shrugged, taking another sip of her drink. And it wasn't a _bad_ idea. Irina just didn't like the fact that it was the _only_ idea they had. The only option that seemed to be open to them. This wasn't a clever choice; it was simply desperation. Heading back to the cornucopia wasn't an option – not with water so close. Killing the spiders wasn't an option – not without some sort of weapons. The Gamemakers had Aras, Galen, and Jani in a corner. Their only option was trying to fit in with the mutts.

Irina shook her head as the three of them crept closer and closer to the water – and to the spiders. If anyone could pull it off, it would be the three of them. The audience loved both Aras and Galen. Always had. Even during their own Games, they'd been Capitol favorites, and now they were practically legends. Which was probably part of the reason they'd been able to get away with staying away from the action until now.

And Jani … so far, he'd been able to feed off of the others' popularity. The audience had loved him because of who his allies were, not because he was a particularly interesting Victor himself. The fact that he had allied himself with Galen and Aras had apparently been enough to make the Gamemakers – or at least the audience – forget that he had spent his entire Games doing exactly what their group was doing now: staying away from the action and hoping for the best.

But that couldn't last forever. Eventually, if he was going to make it out of this alive, he wouldn't be able to rely on Galen and Aras. Because if he was going to live, eventually, they would have to die.

He didn't seem to want to consider that possibility. He never had. He hadn't had any allies during his own Games. He'd never had to worry about what might happen if it came to fighting them.

Irina sighed. They were still a long way away from that possibility. There were still fourteen tributes left. It was only the second day of the Games. Well, the second night. They were a long way from even having to _think_ about fighting each other. And, right now, staying together and helping each other was their best option.

But would Jani be able to realize when it wasn't?

* * *

 **Aras Everett, 63  
** **District Nine**

How long would it be before the spiders realized that they weren't actually mutts?

Aras held his breath as the three of them crept closer and closer to the water. Closer and closer to the spiders. It had been his idea in the first place, but the closer they got, the less certain he felt about the whole idea. Would the Gamemakers really let them get away with copying Benton's idea from thirty-five years ago? How much of the audience would remember that he had tried the same trick?

Some of them would, of course. _He_ had, after all. It had been thirty-five years, but he could still picture Benton on the floor of that snake pit, slithering his way through the bodies of snakes and dead tributes alike. He had clearly hated every moment of it, but it had been enough to keep the audience entertained.

And that was what they would have to hope for now – that the audience would be entertained enough by the fact that they were pretending to be spiders. That it would keep their attention well enough that the Gamemakers wouldn't see any need to order the spiders to attack. Surely there had been enough action for one day. They didn't need to start another fight.

Especially not between three tributes and a group of spiders who could slaughter all of them easily. It would be one thing if it were another group of _tributes_. The Gamemakers would never let them get away with simply sneaking in and stealing some water. But the whole point of these Games was to pit Victor against Victor. To force the best of the best to fight _each other_ , not a pack of spider mutts. If the mutts simply killed the three of them, where was the fun in that?

Fun. Aras clenched his teeth. There was no _fun_ in any of this – not really. His allies were fun, yes. They'd had some entertaining conversations. But whatever fun they'd managed to squeeze out of their time together, it would always be eclipsed by the fact that only one of them could come out of this alive. At least two of them – and possibly all three of them – were going to die.

But they didn't have to die now. They didn't have to die at the hands – or, rather, the claws – of giant spider mutts. Surely they had been interesting enough for the Gamemakers to let them live a little longer.

A little longer. Aras glanced over at Jani and Galen, who had stopped just behind him. Waiting for him to go first. Aras forced a smile and crawled forward, closer to the water. Closer. Just a little closer.

Finally, his hands touched the water. Aras grinned, resisting the urge to scoop the water up in his hands. That wasn't what a spider would do. Instead, he leaned down, dipped his face in the water, and lapped up as much as he could. The spiders did nothing. Nothing as he glanced back at Galen and Jani, nodding to both of them to join him. Nothing as a soft pinging noise began to fill the chamber, and a parachute dropped from an opening in the ceiling.

Jani and Galen scurried closer, doing their best to keep up their act as Aras approached the package, which was labeled "4, 9, 11." Inside was a package of crackers and three small blades – curved and designed to look like spider's fangs. Aras forced a smile as he passed one to Galen and the other to Jani. The message was clear. If they wanted to fit in with the spiders, they had to start _acting_ like spiders. Like predators.

Which meant the other tributes would have to become their prey.

* * *

 **Jani Aramine, 32  
** **District Eleven**

It didn't take long to figure out what the weapons meant.

Jani glanced at Galen and Aras as he fingered his own blade. Just when he'd been starting to feel a little better about everything. They had food. They had water. But now they also had weapons. Which meant they would be expected to kill.

Jani took another drink of water, trying to push the thought from his mind. Maybe their mentors had simply wanted them to have a way to defend themselves. But even as the thought occurred to him, he knew it was a desperate wish. Spiders didn't just defend themselves. They attacked. They sought out prey. And if he and the others wanted to stay alive – if they wanted the spiders to accept them as members of the pack – then they would have to do the same.

Clearly, Galen and Aras had figured it out, too. They were already rationing the crackers they had been sent and drinking as much as they could. Already preparing to leave. Jani gripped his blade tightly. They had just arrived. They were all tired. Couldn't they wait a little while? Until morning, maybe.

But that wasn't an option – not really. Jani glanced around at the cavern. Even the spiders seemed to be restless. Waiting for something – for some sort of signal. But it was dark – at least, outside the cavern. Inside, the light from the crystals was enough to see by. If only…

Jani nearly jumped as the Capitol anthem rang through the cavern, interrupting his thoughts. Even the spiders seemed to stiffen, as if standing at attention. Jani froze as the first of the tributes' faces appeared on the wall. Demetrius. Jani couldn't help a look of surprise. That made two Careers dead in the first two days – certainly not a usual occurrence. But there had been several different groups of Careers. Maybe they'd decided to target each other.

The next face was Wisteria's, and then Hatchet's. Jani shook his head. He hadn't known either of them very well, but they'd seemed like decent people. They hadn't deserved this. _None_ of them deserved this.

 _He_ didn't deserve this. Jani swallowed hard. Was that what they would say about him, if his face appeared on the wall? That he hadn't deserved to die?

Maximus' face was next, and then Ebony's. Jani glanced over at Aras, who was trying hard to keep his expression neutral. Sure, he and Ebony had been district partners, but they hadn't been allies. As far as Jani could tell, they hadn't been close. Still, he had felt the same way last night, after learning Ira had died.

The last face was Felix's. Jani nodded. That wasn't particularly surprising. If anything, it was surprising that the Gamemakers had let him live this long.

And then it was over. Six tributes dead. Four the night before. Fourteen of them left. Only a little more than half. And all three of them were still alive.

Just as the last notes of the anthem echoed through the cavern, there was a loud cracking noise. One of the crystals that lined the ceiling fell. Then another. "Under the spiders!" Galen called as the crystals kept falling. Jani dove under the nearest spider, shaking as crystal after crystal crashed around him.

But then it was over. Crystals lay all around, unbroken. Slowly, Jani crawled out from underneath the spider's giant belly. "What the hell was that?"

It was Galen who answered, smiling a little as he held up one of the glowing crystals. "A message." He turned the crystal over in his hands.

"They're giving us an advantage."

* * *

 **Silvesta Ardin, 47  
** **District Twelve**

They already had an advantage.

Silvesta glanced over at Shyanne and Valion as the last of the faces faded from the wall, leaving the cave completely dark. It was safer that way. Turning on their light would draw attention to them – attention they didn't want. But they couldn't keep hiding forever. The Gamemakers wouldn't let them.

"We should get going." Valion's voice was thin and shaky. Maybe the reality had finally hit him. Ten tributes were dead. Their numbers were dwindling – and quickly. Maybe it was time to get their hands dirty.

That wasn't something Valion had done much of during his own Games. He had spent most of his time hiding in a control room, using the doors and electronic fields of the arena to force the other tributes together. Now he didn't have that sort of advantage. _They_ didn't have that sort of advantage. They had no way of knowing where any of the other tributes were.

So they would just have to look. Like everyone else. Silvesta nodded. "Maybe we should."

And that was it. That was all that needed to be said. The three of them got to their feet, Shyanne clutching her metal rod tightly in one hand. "Which way?" she asked, smiling a little for the cameras. At least, Silvesta was pretty sure it was for the cameras. She wasn't really that excited about hunting down the other tributes.

Was she?

Of course not. After all, she had been one of the first tributes to join up with Evo. If she hadn't wanted to fight then, why would she want to fight now?

Unless it had all been an act. Unless she had only been _pretending_ to join Evo's group so that the audience would be delighted to see her switch sides. Had she been playing them the whole time? Valion, Felix, the audience – had she fooled them all?

That didn't seem like her. Didn't seem like the nineteen-year-old Victor who had spent her time since her own victory providing for the poor and orphans of her district. Then again, who would have guessed that the twelve-year-old from District Five who had entered the Games seven years ago would emerge victorious, with the blood of seven tributes on her hands? They had all killed. They were all capable of hunting down and killing other tributes.

And now the three of them would have to prove it.

"This way." Valion pointed in the opposite direction from where they had come. And maybe that made sense. If they went back, they probably wouldn't find anyone. Their only choice was to keep moving forward and hope there was someone there.

Or hope that there wasn't. Silvesta shook her head as she followed Valion and Shyanne down the passageway. She wasn't sure which option to hope for: that they would find someone, or that they wouldn't. If they found someone, they would have to fight. They would have to kill. But if they didn't…

What would the Gamemakers do? It wasn't as if there had been a lack of action. Wasn't as if no tributes had died for a few days. They were only two days into the Games, and ten tributes were already dead. Almost half. Surely that would be enough to satisfy the audience for a while.

So maybe it would be better if they didn't find anyone.

* * *

 **Clark Tierney, 23  
** **District Seven**

Maybe he would have been better off if he hadn't found anyone.

Clark leaned back against the wall of the cave, clutching his hands tightly together, trying to block out the pain. It had been hours, but the burning from the lava still hadn't dulled. His hands and knees flooded with pain where he had landed in the fire. Ebony had gotten it worse, of course. But she was dead. She wasn't in pain anymore.

He was.

Clark closed his eyes. He could afford to rest – at least for a little while. They wouldn't expect him to keep moving in the dark. And where would he go? He had agreed to meet Maximus and Aelin back where the path split. But Maximus was dead. And Aelin…

Maybe she had gotten lucky. Maybe she hadn't found anyone. Maximus obviously had. And he hadn't been up to the task.

Maybe splitting up hadn't been such a good idea, after all. At the time, it had seemed like their only option. But if both he and Maximus had found someone, that had meant that at least two out of the three passageways had led to a tribute. If they had stayed together, they would still have had a good chance of finding someone. And they would certainly have had a better chance of winning a fight together. Maximus might still be alive. Maybe his own hands and knees wouldn't ache at the slightest touch.

Then again, maybe one of the others would have made a kill, instead. At least this way, he had proven himself to the audience. Any doubts they might have had after his dismal performance during the bloodbath – surely he had put those to rest now.

But at what cost? Maximus was dead. And Hatchet…

No. No, he wasn't ready to think about that. Not yet.

Hatchet was dead. He had known, of course, when he and the others had left her at the cornucopia, that it would be dangerous. But he had hoped that she would at least have the sense to run, to save herself, rather than staying to defend a cornucopia she had no real hope of protecting.

Maybe she hadn't had the chance. Maybe someone had managed to sneak up on her. Maybe she had been outnumbered, unable to run. Maybe she just hadn't been able to get away fast enough. Chances were, he would never know. Unless he made it out alive, he would never know what had happened to her.

Maybe he didn't even want to know.

Suddenly, a soft pinging noise interrupted his thoughts. Clark glanced up, surprised, as a small parachute drifted down from an opening in the rocks above him, landing at his feet. Carefully, trying not to put any pressure on his burned palms, Clark opened the package. Inside was some sort of gel. Medicine, maybe. Cautiously, Clark rubbed a little on his hands.

Instantly, all of his fears were eased. Whatever the mixture was, the pain in his hands began to dull almost immediately. Clark smiled a little as he rubbed some of the mixture on his knees, as well. Apparently, the sponsors had been impressed, after all. Not bad.

Not bad at all.

Well, except for the fact that two more of his allies were gone. That the only ally he had left was a sixty-year-old woman … and he didn't even know where she was. Had Aelin returned to the meeting place they had chosen? They had agreed to meet up after a cannon had sounded. There had been two. He'd been on his way back himself when the lights had started to grow dimmer. Had she made it back?

And, if she had, would she even wait around for him? Surely she knew he was still alive. His face hadn't appeared on the walls, after all. But how long would she wait before heading back to the cornucopia without him? Was that even where she would go? With Hatchet dead, there was no telling who would be waiting for them at the cornucopia. Was it even safe to go back?

Clark leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes tightly. Whatever – or _who_ ever – was at the cornucopia, that could wait. That could wait until morning. He couldn't help a yawn as sleep began to settle over him. Everything else could wait until tomorrow.

Right now, he just wanted to rest.

* * *

 **Cadaya Kallier, 43  
** **District Eight**

She just wanted to rest.

Cadaya leaned back against the wall of the cave, trying not to cry. Ebony was dead. Maximus was dead. She had killed Maximus, and she might as well have killed Ebony. It had been her suggestion that they split up. She had known that it might get Ebony killed. And it had. Ebony was dead.

But she was still alive.

Cadaya shook her head. Why was _she_ still alive? It didn't seem to make any sense. Maximus had always been stronger. More determined. He'd had a larger, more capable alliance, while she'd allied with a nineteen-year-old outer-district girl. But his alliance hadn't been enough to save him.

Why? Why hadn't they been there? Hatchet and Hadrian were dead, yes, but where were Clark and Aelin? Why hadn't they been with him? Had they decided to split up to follow both her and Ebony? Maybe. Maybe that made sense. And it would explain why Ebony was dead, too. If both Aelin and Clark had gone after her…

Cadaya shook her head. She couldn't afford to start second-guessing herself. Ebony was dead. Maximus was dead. But none of that mattered. She was still alive. She still had a chance of making it out of the arena.

And that was all that mattered.

She hadn't thought it would matter this much – making it out alive. From the moment the Quell had been announced – a quell that had condemned her even before the reaping, as District Eight's only living female Victor – she had assumed that she would die. It was only a matter of when, and how, and who would be there to comfort her when it finally happened – or to kill her. But now…

She was still alive. Fourteen tributes left, and she was still alive. She had killed Maximus. Surely, at least in the audience's eyes, that made her a contender. She was armed. She knew where there was water. She had the food she'd found on Maximus' body after she'd finally worked up the courage to look. All in all, she was doing pretty well.

Cadaya shook her head. She couldn't afford to get ahead of herself. Sure, she was still alive, but so were thirteen other tributes. Tributes who still had alliances. She was armed and well-fed, yes, but she was also alone. And that wasn't likely to change any time soon.

Cadaya closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. It was her own damn fault, of course. She had suggested splitting up. If she hadn't, they might both be alive. If Maximus had found both of them, it wouldn't even have been much of a fight.

Then again, if _they_ hadn't split up, would the Careers still have split up? Had they split up to follow different paths, or had they been able to tell which way she and Ebony had gone? There was no way of knowing. Maybe the three of them – Maximus, Aelin, and Clark – would have found her and Ebony. And that … well, that might not have ended so well.

Cadaya sighed. Second-guessing herself wouldn't do any good. She would have to live with the choice she had made. Ebony was dead because of her choice. Maximus was dead because she had chosen to fight rather than simply giving up. And that … maybe that was a choice she could live with.

He had made the same choice, after all. He could have walked away. But he had chosen to fight. He had been trying to kill her. If she hadn't fought back, he would have. They had both made the same choice.

She had simply been a little bit stronger.

* * *

 **Freya Basnett, 44  
** **District Two**

If only she'd been a little bit stronger.

Freya closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall as she settled down for the night. She had thought, when she had left Cedra and Gareth at the cornucopia earlier, that she'd made the right choice. That she simply didn't have it in her anymore. She didn't have what it took to kill. Maybe she didn't even have what it took to fight. It had felt like the right decision then.

But now … now she wasn't so sure. It wasn't because of lack of food. They'd all been carrying some food in their pockets when they'd attacked the cornucopia. It was always a good idea to bring food along; there was no telling when the Gamemakers might not let tributes return to their original stash. So she wasn't particularly hungry, and wouldn't run out of water for a while. She was armed. But still…

She hadn't expected to be this lonely. During her own Games, she'd had allies – right up to the very end. When she'd allied with Cedra this time, she'd assumed that they would stay together until circumstances forced them apart – or one or both of them was killed.

But it wasn't circumstances that had forced them apart. It was her choice. A choice that had seemed right, but now just seemed foolish. After all, _she_ hadn't needed to kill anyone in order to stay with the group. It would have been enough to stay and watch while the others killed Hatchet. But she hadn't even been able to do that.

Freya clenched her fists tightly. Why? She'd been watching the Games for years. Even when she hadn't been mentoring, she'd watched them with her family; everyone in District Two did. It had never really bothered her before – the killing. It was just something that happened. It was how tributes won the Games.

But most years … well, most years, District Two's tributes wanted to be there. No one did this year – even the volunteers. Demetrius had volunteered to spare his brother. Hadrian had volunteered to save Jay. Silvesta had volunteered to save Moira. The only one who actually wanted to be there was Aelin. Other than that…

Other than that, they were simply doing what had to be done. So why couldn't she simply accept that, as the others had? Why was it so much harder for her to slip back into the mentality she had left behind so many years ago? It wasn't fair. It seemed to come so easily for everyone else. Kill or be killed. Survive. If they could do it, why couldn't she?

It wasn't because she didn't want to live. No. No, that wasn't it. If she had wanted to die, she could have charged into the bloodbath. Or she could have refused Demetrius' offer of an alliance and challenged him then and there. She could be dead by now – easily – if that was what she wanted.

But it wasn't. She didn't want to die. And she didn't want to kill. She had simply wanted to live the rest of her life in peace, far away from the Games. If that wasn't an option anymore…

Then she wasn't really sure _what_ she wanted. But it wasn't this. It wasn't the loneliness and the fear and the dread that threatened to overwhelm her. Maybe she should go back. Would the others still take her back – Gareth and Cedra? Were they still at the lake, or had they decided to stay at the cornucopia? Or would they have gone somewhere else entirely?

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

 **Gareth Arch, 37  
** **District Ten**

"There are only so many places she could have gone."

Gareth shook his head as Cedra continued to pace the length of the cavern, convinced that it was only a matter of time before Freya returned. Ever since the faces on the wall had revealed that Freya was, in fact, still alive, Cedra had grown more and more restless. Gareth clenched his teeth, trying to hold back what he wanted to say. What he had wanted to say since they had attacked the cornucopia.

It was obvious that Freya wasn't coming back. And it was just as obvious why. Regardless of how much of a typical Career she may have been during her own Games, she obviously didn't have what it took. Not anymore. Maybe Cedra didn't, either. Sure, she had killed Hatchet, but that hadn't exactly taken much skill. Once it came down to an actual fight, would she be able to pull herself together?

Maybe it would be better to simply leave.

Gareth glanced over at the exit. He could. There were only fourteen tributes left. He could make it on his own. He'd survived his own Games even after losing his ally. What made this any different?

The difference, of course, was that he hadn't lost Cedra. She was still alive. Pacing only a few feet away from him. If he tried to leave, would she follow? Would she stay here, waiting for Freya?

Would she even notice?

 _Stop it._ He was getting too nervous. Too hasty. It certainly wasn't a good idea to leave while she was standing here, watching. But if he could sneak away while she was asleep, that would be much easier.

"Why don't you get some rest?" Gareth suggested, hoping his words didn't sound suspicious. Hoping she wouldn't realize that he intended to leave as soon as she drifted off to sleep.

Cedra shook her head. "No. Not until Freya gets back. I'll take the first watch. You get some sleep."

 _I'm not tired._ He almost said it. But that would certainly sound even more suspicious. If he simply suggested that one of them rest, that was normal. But insisting that _she_ be the one to rest – or neither of them – that might make her wonder. Might even make her think that he wanted to do _worse_ than leave once she was asleep.

So he simply nodded. "Suit yourself," he agreed, and lay down. Maybe it didn't make a difference. Sooner or later, she would wake him to switch watches, and then he would be able to slip away. She couldn't stay awake forever. And neither could he. So he might as well sleep now. Might as well get some rest with someone else standing guard while he still could.

He might not get another chance.

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 21  
** **District Four**

She might not get a better chance.

Cedra fingered her rapier as she continued to pace back and forth. Gareth was asleep; she was certain of it now. He'd been pretending for a while – pretending to go to sleep, maybe to lure her into a false sense of security, maybe to simply see what she would do – but, half an hour or so ago, his breathing had evened out. He was sleeping soundly. Unsuspectingly.

She hadn't planned to kill him. But when he had suggested that she get some rest … something had been off. Very off. Maybe she was being paranoid. But she couldn't afford to take any chances. She couldn't afford the possibility that it might not be paranoia. That he might actually be planning to kill her.

After all, how long had they been allies? A day? A little more? Certainly not long enough for him to be obligated not to kill her. As if an obligation of that sort actually existed in the Games. In the end, they were all expected to kill each other – allies or no. No one would have blamed Gareth for killing her.

And no one would blame her for killing him.

No. No, that wasn't entirely true. Someone would blame her. She would blame herself. Just like she blamed herself for killing Hatchet. But the old woman hadn't left her much of a choice. It wasn't as if Hatchet had simply sat there, begging for her life. She had killed Demetrius. Her ally.

Well, as much of her ally as Gareth was.

Cedra took a deep breath. She wished her _real_ ally was still here. Freya – where was she? Then again, if she had really been her ally – her friend – would she have run off? Cedra had assumed, when she had realized that Freya was gone, that she had seen another tribute and gone after them. And when Freya hadn't returned, she had begun to fear the worst.

But the faces – none of them had been Freya's. So where was she? Was it possible that she had gotten lost? Or had she never meant to come back? Had she been running away from them?

From her?

Maybe. Despite her efforts to distance herself from the Games, maybe Cedra was still too close. Too much of a reminder of what Freya used to be. Cedra gripped her rapier. It wasn't her fault. Wasn't her fault that she'd been chosen for these Games only four years after her own, while Freya had been given time to recover in between. Time to live her life.

In fact, almost _all_ of them had been given more time to recover than she had. They'd all gotten to live more of their lives. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. She deserved that chance, too.

But, in the end, she would have to _earn_ that chance.

Fine. If she had to, then she would. Cedra took a deep breath, then took a step closer to Gareth. Then another. He still didn't budge. Her bare footsteps were silent on the cold, hard stones. Silent. Absolutely silent.

Just like death.

Not always, of course. Death wasn't always silent. Sometimes there were screams. Cries. Begging. Sometimes there was cursing and howling and wailing.

But not this time. Gareth didn't make a sound as she stood beside him. There was barely a sound as her rapier plunged into his throat. Even then, there were no screams. No cries. Just a startled, gasping, gurgling sound as his eyes flew open.

But it was too late for him to do anything. Cedra yanked her rapier out of his throat and leapt back as his arms lashed out at her. Realizing he couldn't reach her, Gareth clutched helplessly at his throat for a moment, trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood.

But it did no good. After only a few seconds, he collapsed back onto the stones, and, a moment later, the cannon sounded. Cedra stared. For a long time. One minute. Then another. How long she stood there, she wasn't certain.

But when she finally looked up, she saw Freya staring at her.

* * *

 **Robben Shepherd  
** **District Ten Mentor**

"Well, shit."

Robben shook his head as he finished another drink. He glanced over at Aramanth. "Next round's on me."

Aramanth sighed. "It was his own damn fault. What was he thinking – suggesting that she get some sleep?"

Robben shrugged. "He was probably hoping to do the exact same thing to her. Didn't realize just how much of a nervous wreck she was. Or maybe he did. Or maybe he just wanted to leave. Or maybe he _did_ think she needed some sleep. Can't imagine where he might have gotten that idea."

Aramanth sighed. "Looks like it's you and me again next year."

Robben scoffed. "Just like old times." He had thought, when Irina and Gareth had won, that his mentoring days were over. But now…

But there was no point in complaining about that. He was alive. Gareth and Irina weren't. He'd lost his right to complain the moment their names had been drawn at the reaping and his hadn't. He was alive. Yes, he would have to mentor, but he would get to go home afterwards. Home to his family. His daughter.

That was something Gareth and Irina would never do again.

It didn't seem fair. Gareth had escaped everything else unharmed. He had escaped the bloodbath when Irina had died and Demetrius had been injured. When they had attacked the cornucopia, it was Demetrius who had been killed. Gareth had been completely unharmed. He'd had as good a chance as any of them.

And maybe … maybe that was the real reason Cedra had killed him. Maybe she had recognized what they all had to acknowledge in the end: he was competition. And pretty strong competition at that. Hell, with the main Career pack scattered, he might have been some of her _best_ competition. Maybe she was smarter than he had given her credit for.

Or maybe she was simply scared. That certainly seemed like the likelier option. But sometimes fear – fear of the other tributes, fear of the Games, or simply fear of death – was enough to keep tributes alive. It had certainly helped keep him alive during his own Games. Sometimes fear was enough.

Sometimes fear was all they had.

* * *

" _Enemies are never a problem. It's your friends you have to watch out for."_


	33. The Best Anyone Can Hope For

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games isn't mine.

 **Note:** It's NaNoWriMo time! The time of the year when I get chapters done at a much faster rate ... but still have to find time to edit. So between this story and _Mistakes of the Past_ , I have almost three complete chapters ready to edit ... but this one gets to go first because I haven't updated it in a while. So here we go.

* * *

 **Day Three  
** **The Best Anyone Can Hope For**

* * *

 **Amber Lionetti  
** **Head Gamemaker**

She just hoped they understood why the spiders hadn't attacked them.

Amber leaned back in her chair, watching as Galen, Aras, and Jani gathered up as many of the blue crystals as they could. Crystals that would glow in the dark to light their way as they hunted. As they hunted for other tributes.

Surely they had gotten the message. Surely Galen, at least – a Career, or, at least, a Victor who had mentored enough Careers in his time – knew that they couldn't simply let an advantage like this go. They had weapons. And now they had light. There were other tributes who had neither. All they had to do was find them.

And all she had to do was give them a nudge in the right direction.

The only question was where. As soon as the spiders started moving, she was certain, they would follow. She could lead them pretty much anywhere she wanted. Euclid and Camryn would be the closest, and the easiest to find. Or she could lead them back to the cornucopia, and it wouldn't take them long to find Freya and Cedra. Silvesta, Valion, and Shyanne would take a little longer for them to reach, but that would certainly be a good fight. Three against three, and they both had light and weapons.

Or maybe Clark and Aelin. They were separated – for now, at least – but it wouldn't take them long to find each other again, if they started moving soon. Amber drummed her fingers on the table. Pretty much anyone was an option for who would give the three of them a good fight. An entertaining fight. A fight that either side could win.

Because that was the best part of the Games, in the end. Anyone could win a fight. A young, healthy Victor from Seven or a mother of three from Eight. Anyone could kill, given enough reason. And, after three days, most of them had enough reason.

Most of them. There were still some who hadn't gotten their hands dirty, but that could change in an instant, given the right circumstances. Most – if not all – of the remaining tribute would be willing to fight when it came down to it.

When it came down to it. That was up to her now – who would have to fight. It was rare that she got to directly influence the course of the Games, and it always filled her with a little extra excitement – but also a little dread. It was her job to give the audience the sort of fight they wanted. If she got it wrong…

But she couldn't worry about that. In the end, there were no bad options – not this time. Any fight would be a good one. Everyone stood a chance. So maybe it was best to go with the simplest solution. Amber nodded to one of the junior gamemakers, who pressed a few buttons. The spiders chattered for a moment, then started moving. It wouldn't be long now.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

 **Freya Basnett, 44  
** **District Two**

Maybe it was only a matter of time.

Freya wasn't sure how long she stood there, staring at Gareth's body. At Cedra, standing over him, her rapier in hand. It was obvious what had happened. There hadn't been a fight – not really. Gareth's cleaver was lying next to him, untouched. Cedra had killed him in his sleep. That much was obvious.

But it was just as obvious that she couldn't say so. She didn't dare say so. Because if Cedra had snapped and killed Gareth, then she might kill her, too – right here and now. She could run. But she had come back for a reason. She'd wanted to prove that she could handle the Games. That she was willing to do what had to be done.

And right now, that meant asking the question she already knew the answer to. "What happened?"

Cedra shook her head, the words coming slowly. "I … I just … he was …" She took a deep breath. "He was planning to kill me."

Was he? Maybe. Maybe he _had_ been planning to kill her, and simply hadn't had the chance. Maybe Cedra was simply being paranoid. Either way, the best thing to do was to play along. "I'm sorry I didn't make it back sooner," she apologized. "Maybe I could have stopped him from—"

"It doesn't matter," Cedra assured her. "I took care of it. Where were you?"

Now it was her turn to lie. But the lie came easily. "I thought I saw someone else – another tribute, running away from the cornucopia. It was nothing – must've been some sort of mutt – but, by the time I realized that, I just … I didn't want to return empty-handed. Especially when I didn't know whether…"

"Whether the rest of us were still alive," Cedra finished.

Freya nodded. "But when I saw the faces – saw that you were alive – I knew I had to come back. I'm just glad you came back here, where I could find you."

That much was true, at least. Clearly, Cedra had been hoping that she would return. Otherwise, she and Gareth would have found a different hiding place. Cedra smiled a little. Good. _Now change the subject._ "I guess there weren't any lights at the cornucopia?" It was hard to believe that was why they had gone there in the first place – looking for something to provide light.

Cedra shook her head. "If there was anything there at the start of the Games, the other Career group probably took it with them."

 _The other Career group._ Aelin and Hadrian and their allies. But Hadrian, Maximus, and Hatchet were dead. That left Aelin and Clark. Where were they? She and Cedra had no way of knowing – and no way of knowing if they were even together. For all they knew, they were the only Careers left in a pack.

But surely the Gamemakers couldn't expect them to do anything in the dark. "I guess we stay here for the night, then?" Freya asked, settling down before Cedra had a chance to answer. Cedra needed rest; that much was obvious. But Freya knew better than to suggest that she get some. No, the best thing she could do was try to settle her down a little bit.

Cedra finally laid down her rapier. "You think we'll be safe?"

Freya shrugged. "As safe as we can be. I don't think the Gamemakers will be expecting anyone to go looking for tributes tonight."

Cedra shook her head. "And if they do?"

Freya smiled a little. "Well, if they'd wanted us to go hunting, they should have given us a little more light."

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

They had no choice but to go hunting now.

Galen turned his blade over in his hands as the spiders continued to swarm out of the chamber. It was obvious that the Gamemakers were trying to lead them somewhere. But was it somewhere they really wanted to go?

Galen shook the thought from his head. There wasn't a choice now. Maybe there had never been a choice. The three of them had tried to avoid the fighting, but they had always known, in the back of their minds, that it couldn't last forever. None of them had dared to say it, but it had been clear from the start: eventually they would have to fight.

The only question was _who_ they would be fighting, and whether they would survive. Galen nodded to Aras and Jani as they headed after the spiders, staying close behind the mutts. Their district partners – Ebony and Ira – were already dead. There was no chance that the spiders were leading them in that direction. But Cedra…

Cedra. She was probably still with Freya. And, unless the most recent cannon had belonged to one of them, they were both still alive. If that was where the spiders were leading them, how much of a chance did they have? Freya and Cedra had almost certainly been able to retrieve weapons from the cornucopia. Both were trained Careers.

The three of them … well, they weren't. He was the closest they had to a Career. He'd spent the last fifty years bridging the gap between two worlds – the older, non-Career Victors and their district's younger generation of Careers. But the truth was, he'd never wanted to be in the Games. He'd accepted it, but it was never something he would have chosen for himself.

But now he didn't have a choice. None of them did. Well, maybe they _did_ have a choice, but it wasn't a good one. _Fight, or the spiders will turn on you_ wasn't much of a choice at all. He didn't particularly want to kill. But he _certainly_ didn't want to die.

And, in the end, that was what the Gamemakers were counting on. Few tributes went into the Games _wanting_ to kill. But, eventually, most of them were _willing_ to, if it meant survival. He was no exception. Had never been an exception. Had never wanted to be. Because all of the exceptions to that rule – they were dead. The Gamemakers made sure of that.

Galen gripped his blade tightly as he followed Aras and Jani through the tunnels. Wherever the spiders were leading them – whoever the spiders were leading them _to_ – a quick death at their hands was better than whatever would happen if the spiders found them alone. Maybe that wasn't a good reason to fight. To kill. But, for now, it was good enough.

It would have to be.

* * *

 **Camryn Cartier, 34  
** **District Six**

They would have to get moving eventually.

Camryn winced as she finally managed to sit up, leaning back against the wall for support. The medicine the Capitol had sent was clearly starting to do its job, but she still didn't feel ready to stand. But it was only a matter of time before they would have to get moving. Even though she was still recovering, the Gamemakers wouldn't let them stay in one place forever.

That wasn't interesting enough.

Still, they were still alive. That had to count for something. Two days into the Games, and she was still alive. And Euclid…

Camryn glanced over at her new ally. It still seemed strange – the idea that he would want to help her. That he would want to help anyone. He'd spent most of their three training days by himself. As far as she could remember, he had been on his own during his first Games. Why would he want to help her now?

No. No, that wasn't quite right. He'd had an ally during his Games – but not for long. His district partner, maybe? But she'd died early on. He hadn't been able to save her.

Was that what this was about? Maybe. Maybe the idea of saving someone – _anyone_ – was appealing after so many years of depending on others. And the position she was in … well, it was exactly the reverse. She'd spent so many years fending for herself. Learning how to move on. How to get by. Now … now she would just have to trust him.

Trust. It wasn't exactly a comforting thought. Because trust only lasted so long in the Games. Even if Euclid wanted to save her now, when it came down to her life or his, he would choose his. That much, she was certain of. Not that she blamed him for it. Given the choice, she would choose her own life, as well. So would any of them. None of them had won the Games by sacrificing themselves for an ally. She would never expect him to.

Camryn shook her head. Even if it couldn't last forever, their shaky alliance could last at least a little longer. Surely the Gamemakers wouldn't expect them to go anywhere right now. Not in the pitch black of the tunnels at night. They could wait until morning.

Except … it wasn't quite pitch black. Not anymore. There was a little bit of light – glowing pale blue in the distance. Camryn clutched her knife tightly, grateful that Euclid had brought back another one from the cornucopia. But what good would she really be in a fight?

What good would _he_ be in a fight? Euclid was shaking as he stood up. But he didn't run. Not even when the spiders came into view.

Maybe he knew better than to run. The spiders could catch him – easily. He wouldn't be able to outrun them. And that wasn't what the Gamemakers wanted. What the audience wanted. They didn't want to see tributes run down and killed by spiders. Not when she could now see three other tributes along with the spider pack. Following the spiders down the tunnel, as if trying to act like them.

Camryn clenched her teeth and stood up. Euclid took a step in front of her, gripping his own knife tightly. The three tributes in the midst of the spider pack hurried forward, holding long, fang-like blades. Longer than her knife – or Euclid's. Three against two – and she was injured. They wouldn't win a fair fight.

But there wasn't time to do anything about it.

* * *

 **Jani Aramine, 32  
** **District Eleven**

They didn't have time to do anything clever.

Jani charged as quickly as he could, outsprinting the two older men. Maybe they were out of breath. Or maybe they were simply content to let him be the first one to charge. It wasn't as if he _wanted_ to fight. But after two days with Galen and Aras, maybe some of their attitude was starting to rub off on him. He didn't want to kill. But he _did_ want to prove himself. Prove that he had a chance. Prove that he deserved to be one of them.

So he charged. He was aiming for Camryn, who seemed to be the easier target, but Euclid stepped in the way, ducking beneath Jani's first blow and then taking a swipe himself. Jani stepped back, startled. He had half-expected Euclid to run once the fighting actually started. But maybe he had more sense. After all, if any of them tried to run, the Gamemakers could simply send the spiders after them. Whichever way this went, a quick death at the hands of a fellow Victor was better than whatever the spiders would do.

So he swung again – his blade in one hand, one of the glowing blue crystals in the other. He could see – at least well enough to tell where Euclid and Camryn were. And well enough to know that Galen and Aras were close behind him.

Aras reached the fight next, charging at Camryn while Euclid was occupied with Jani. Euclid hurried over to help, but not before a blow from Aras' blade found Camryn's side. Camryn tried to dodge, but only succeeded in tripping in the dark as Euclid rushed to her side. Jani followed, swinging again, but Euclid turned in time.

Suddenly, Euclid lunged. But not for Jani's weapon, as he'd expected. Instead, he lunged for the blue crystal in Jani's hand. Startled, Jani let go, and Euclid scooped it up as Jani's blade came down, narrowly missing the back of his neck. Euclid rolled to the side just in time to avoid a second blow, then tossed the crystal aside – back against the wall of the tunnel. The crystal shattered, sending sparks everywhere.

Jani swung again, blindly, and, this time, his blade found his target – or, at least, the next best thing. Camryn gave a cry of pain as his blade sank deep into her chest. Euclid lunged, but it was too late. Too late to do anything except—

Suddenly, a rumbling sound shook the cave. Jani took a step backwards as the ground began to shake. No, not just the ground. The walls. The walls of the cave. It took him a moment to realize what Euclid had done. A piece of the cave wall struck him in the back as Euclid dove out of the way, debris crumbling all around. Jani sank to the ground, trying to cover his head. A cannon rang out. But not his. Not yet. Pain shot through his legs as something fell on top of him.

What was happening?

* * *

 **Euclid Hoover, 33  
** **District Three**

He hadn't quite expected that.

Euclid coughed as the debris began to settle. He'd hoped that _something_ would happen when he threw the crystal against the wall, but he hadn't quite expected the entire cave wall to collapse. There had been only one cannon, but both Jani and Camryn had been completely buried, and Aras was lying on the ground, motionless. Not bad, but that still left—

Galen. Euclid whirled around in time to see the older Victor lunge for him. He reached for his knife, but – where was it? Had he dropped it? Was it still somewhere under the debris? Euclid took a step backwards, but that only brought him closer to the pile of rocks behind him. He couldn't keep backing up forever.

Just then, something grabbed his ankle. Pulling him down. Aras. So he was still alive. Euclid gave a shout as he lost his balance, toppling over backwards onto the rocks. Desperate, he picked up one of the smaller chunks of rock and flung it towards Galen. But that did nothing to stop the blade that came down towards his chest.

Pain. Blood. But only for a moment. Everything was starting to go dark. Everything was getting fuzzy. Was this how Wisteria had felt when he … when he killed her? He had begged her not to die. There was no one to beg for him to stay now. Wisteria was dead. Camryn was probably dead. And now … now he would join them.

Maybe that was for the best.

* * *

 **Aras Everett, 63  
** **District Nine**

 _Boom._

The cannon echoed through the tunnels, shaking the rocks even more. Aras groaned a little as he finally got to his feet. His whole body ached, but he'd managed to avoid the worst of the rockfall. A few cuts and bruises – that was all. But the others…

There had only been two cannons. Euclid's and … Camryn's? Jani's? There was no way to know – not without digging through the rocks. One of them was still alive.

But which one?

Just then, he heard something – a soft groaning noise, coming from nearby. Under the rocks. Galen must have heard it, too, because he immediately rushed over, dropping his blade and digging through the rocks with his bare hands. Aras knelt beside him, clearing away as much as he could. Finally, they could see a hand. Then an arm.

Then a head.

Jani. It was Jani. But Aras barely had time to feel relieved before realizing how badly Jani was hurt. A large rock lay across his back, and his legs were buried deep beneath the rubble. Blood was pooling around him. It was only a matter of time before…

Aras glanced over at Galen, who shook his head. Jani was barely conscious. Even if they managed to dig him out, there was nothing they could do for him. Nothing except make it quick.

Aras took a deep breath and reached for his blade. "I'll do it."

Galen moved aside, not about to object, and took Jani's hand gently as Aras clutched his blade. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Jani didn't seem to hear. Maybe he wasn't even aware of what was going on. Aras wasn't sure whether that was better or worse. But waiting definitely wouldn't make things any better. Silently, he laid his blade against Jani's throat and sliced as deep as he could.

Almost immediately, a cannon rang out.

* * *

 **Aelin Kuang, 60  
** **District One**

Three cannons.

Aelin fidgeted impatiently with her spear as she continued to pace around the end of the tunnel. She'd agreed to meet up with the others again after one cannon. That had been hours ago. She'd kept going, convinced there had to be _something_ down this path. But another cannon had sounded. And another. And now…

Now there had been six cannons since their group had split. Maximus was dead. Maybe Clark was, too. One of the four most recent cannons – the ones that had sounded after the faces had appeared on the wall – could have been his. Or he might still be alive. He might have found nothing – just like her. What if he had gone back to the fork in the path? What if he was waiting for her?

Aelin shook her head, her spear beginning to drag on the ground. She should have turned around after the first cannon. But she hadn't wanted to go back empty-handed. Once she'd reached the end of the path, of course, it had been obvious there was no one to find. But by then, it was almost completely dark. And now … now there was nothing to do but wait until morning.

Fantastic.

It was her own fault, of course. But that only made it worse. She had no one but herself to blame for her current predicament. She was the one who had suggested that they split up. She was the one who had chosen not to turn around when she heard the first cannon. She had kept going.

Aelin gripped her spear. She should have known better. _Careers_ were supposed to know better. She should have returned to the group. Now … was there even a group to return to? Or was Clark already dead?

Finally, Aelin sat down, leaning back against the wall. There was no way to know, so there was no point worrying about it. The best thing to do now was rest. She wasn't going to be able to do anything else until morning, anyway. So she might as well get some sleep…

But she already knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep well. There was a reason Careers usually worked in packs. It was easier to avoid situations like this, where one tribute was left alone. Vulnerable. Not wanting to sleep for fear of being attacked, fear of never waking up again. But she was so tired…

Aelin rubbed her eyes, leaning back against the wall. Maybe just a little sleep. An hour or two. Who would be looking for her in the dark, anyway? If there hadn't been any flashlights or lamps or anything at the cornucopia, what were the chances that _anyone_ had access to light? What were the chances that _anyone_ was out hunting.

But someone was. There had been three cannons in the space of … what? A few minutes? That was too short an amount of time to simply be tributes dying from injuries they'd sustained earlier. Too many cannons. Someone was fighting. Tributes were killing each other. And she was stuck here.

It wasn't fair.

* * *

 **Shyanne James, 19  
** **District Five**

It didn't seem fair.

Shyanne turned her metal rod over in her hands as the three of them continued onward in the dark. At least it wasn't _completely_ dark. The light from the rod was enough to see by, but little else. Even that, of course, gave them a huge advantage over any other tributes they might come across.

It didn't seem fair. What had she done to earn that sort of advantage? She'd let Felix die – that was all. She'd left and let the spiders kill him, then claimed to have done the deed herself. She didn't deserve an advantage like this. Didn't deserve the confidence the Capitol had placed in her.

But the Games … they were never really about who _deserved_ anything. They weren't about who deserved to win – or even who deserved to be there in the first place. She hadn't deserved to be in the Games when she was twelve. And she didn't deserve to be here now.

Then again, there wasn't anyone who really _deserved_ to be in the Games. Certainly not Valion or Silvesta – or Felix. No, the ones who _really_ deserved it – they were out there, running the show.

But she knew better than to say so. She had to keep playing along. Pretending that she wanted to be here – or, at least, that she was okay with it. Felix had given her a chance, and she wasn't about to throw it away by saying something stupid.

Suddenly, Valion held up a hand. Everyone froze. "What is it?" Shyanne whispered.

Valion shook his head. "I thought I heard something. Up ahead. Keep moving, but keep _quiet_."

Shyanne nodded. They had been quiet, anyway. They hadn't said more than a few words since they'd set out. Maybe Valion was just being careful. Maybe he was more afraid than he let on. Or maybe…

Maybe he was just trying to make the audience _think_ there was something going on. She hadn't heard anything. Maybe he hadn't, either. But even giving the impression that they _thought_ there was something about to happen – even that could keep the audience's interest for a while. And keeping quiet certainly wasn't going to make things any worse.

The other option, of course, was that he _had_ heard something. She'd been a bit distracted by her own thoughts. Maybe there really _was_ someone up ahead.

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

 **Magnus Sigma  
** **District Three Mentor**

There was nothing he could have done.

Magnus shook his head as Hypatia took a seat next to him. "There was no you could have done," she said softly. "There was nothing anyone could have done."

She was right, of course. What Euclid had done with the crystal had been clever – but not clever enough. He had been outnumbered. His only ally had been injured. He had never stood a chance.

Of course, that was how most of the audience saw District Three in general. The district that never stood a chance. The district that only won occasionally due to some clever trick or a bit of luck. They were never really considered contenders – certainly not when there were Careers in the mix. But even before that…

Even before that, they'd been at a disadvantage. Tributes in Seven, Nine, Ten – districts where the industry was based on manual labor – always seemed to have an edge. Was that why One, Two, and Four had started training? To compensate for being outclassed? If so, it had worked. It had worked a little _too_ well. Now, in any given Games, the Careers had a distinct advantage. Always. Year after year. It wasn't fair.

Magnus shook the thought from his head. The Games weren't about what was fair. Never had been. If they'd wanted to be fair – if they'd really wanted to punish people for starting the war – they would have chosen some Capitol children, too. But it had never been about justice, or fairness. It had been about control. It still was.

And that was never going to change.

* * *

 _A good death is the best anyone can hope for._


	34. No Indignity

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games isn't mine.

 **Note:** Results of the "favorite district pair" poll are up on the blog. New poll on my profile, this time asking who you _think_ will be the Victor. (Please note that this is not necessarily the same as who you _want_ to be the Victor; that'll be the next poll.) As usual, **read the chapter first** because anyone who dies here won't be included in the poll.

Shout-out to when-is-winter-coming and their friends, who have an open SYOT. Send some tributes their way!

* * *

 **Day Three  
** **No Indignity**

* * *

 **Ravi Mazzarin, 78  
** **District Six Mentor**

"She's lucky she lasted as long as she did."

Ravi shook his head as he took another drink. He'd been trying to tell himself the same thing ever since Camryn's death. Merril had a point, of course. With her injuries, Camryn's chances of winning had been slim ever since the bloodbath. The fact that she'd lasted so long was surprising. But ever since Euclid had come back from the cornucopia and the sponsors had sent medicine, he'd begun to hope again. He'd hoped that maybe – just maybe – she had a chance.

"Why that group, I wonder," Ravi muttered as he and Merril watched Galen and Aras gather their weapons and check Euclid and Camryn's bodies for anything useful. "The Gamemakers could have used the spiders to steer the three of them anywhere. Towards a group that would put up more of a fight. Why pick Camryn and Euclid?"

Merril sighed and took another drink. "You know why."

He did. The Capitol still wasn't willing to overlook the fact that – however briefly – she'd considered going along with Evo's plan. And yet Shyanne, who had been his ally, was still alive. They could have sent the spiders after her, Valion, and Silvesta. But they hadn't.

Maybe it was only a matter of time. Shyanne, Valion, and Silvesta had been farther away. Maybe that was where they would go next. But the spiders didn't seem to be in a hurry to go much of anywhere. There was a whole pack of them in the tunnel near Aras and Galen, but they were just … waiting.

Maybe they wanted to give Galen and Aras time to recover. Maybe they knew the pair of them would need time to rest before another attack. Maybe the Gamemakers were waiting to see where the two older Victors would decide to go next, without the spiders' prompting. Maybe they were giving them a chance to _lead_ the pack rather than follow it.

That didn't seem to make much sense, though. Galen and Aras had no way of knowing where the other tributes would be. But maybe that was the idea. Maybe the Gamemakers didn't want to simply lead the two of them around the arena, drive them towards tribute after tribute. Maybe they wanted to give the others a chance at some of the action.

Ravi leaned back in his chair. If Aras and Galen had any sense, they would take the time the Gamemakers were giving them to rest. There were only ten tributes left. Less than half of what they had started with. Things would start moving much faster now.

Maybe it was better to rest while they could.

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

Maybe it was better to rest while they could.

Galen shook his head as he and Aras dug through the rubble, looking for anything that might be useful. There was nothing – or, at least, if there _was_ anything, it was buried deep. Deeper than Jani and Camryn's bodies. They'd found a knife, but that wasn't really going to be more useful than the blades they already had. Three curved blades and a knife between the two of them, now that Jani was…

Galen's gaze strayed to the body again. He was so young. Jani, Euclid, Camryn – they'd had their whole lives ahead of them. But he and Aras were left, while they were dead.

"It doesn't seem fair, does it," Aras agreed. "The young die, and the old … well, we keep going."

"It's not how I thought this was going to go," Galen admitted. He wasn't quite sure what he _had_ expected, but it hadn't been this. He hadn't expected Jani to be the first of their group to die. He hadn't wanted it to be Jani. Then again, he hadn't _wanted_ it to be Aras, either. And he _certainly_ hadn't wanted it to be him. There had been no good way for this to end.

And it wasn't over yet. Yes, this particular fight was over. But there were still ten tributes left. Still eight others left in the arena, besides the pair of them. They were out there somewhere. Eventually, they would have to go looking again.

But not yet. Aras, too, seemed content to settle down for the night. Galen quietly slumped down beside his friend. The Gamemakers would probably leave them alone for the night. They'd just killed two other tributes, and lost a member of their alliance.

A member of their alliance. No, that wasn't right. They'd lost a friend. A fellow Victor. A man who deserved to make it home just as much as they did. But only one of them could go home.

And there were still ten of them left.

Ten. Only ten tributes left, after two days. The Games were moving quickly. His own Games had only lasted four days, but that was one of the quickest by far. Most lasted at least a week. But this year, with experienced killers … well, maybe it wasn't a surprise that they simply wanted to get this over with.

He might have said the same thing a few hours before. _Let's get this over with. Let's get moving already._ But now … now, he was just tired. All that running, and the fight, and losing Jani – they deserved to rest for a little while.

He just hoped the Gamemakers would let them.

* * *

 **Aras Everett, 63  
** **District Nine**

He just hoped the Gamemakers would let them rest for a while.

Aras glanced around at the bodies, shaking his head. Jani. Euclid. Camryn. All dead. All younger, perfectly capable Victors – gone. But he and Galen were still alive.

Still alive. That was the important thing. He was still alive. And he planned to stay that way. For right now, that meant getting some rest. Surely the Gamemakers wouldn't expect them to keep moving so soon. Surely they would allow them to rest.

The spiders certainly seemed content to stay put for the moment. "I'll take the first watch," Aras offered, and Galen nodded, too tired to argue. The fight – as well as the effort of trying to keep up with both the spiders and their younger ally – had left both of them exhausted. But maybe it was a good thing, in the end, that they _hadn't_ quite been able to keep up with Jani. He had arrived first. He had charged into the fight first.

And he had died first.

It didn't quite seem fair. He'd been eager to prove himself; that was the only explanation for why he had raced in. After only killing one person in his own Games – and that one in self-defense – and after two days of hiding out in the tunnels, waiting for the other tributes to die, he'd wanted to prove that he could do this. That he could fight. That he could kill.

And he _had_ killed. He'd proven that he had what it took … and that still hadn't been enough. Aras turned his blade – Jani's blade, actually – over in his hands before laying it on the ground beside them. Chances were, there would be no more action tonight. If any tributes _did_ find them, they'd probably just keep moving.

That's certainly what _he'd_ do if he found two tributes being protected by a pack of giant spider mutts.

Aras sighed. It didn't matter what _he_ would do if he was in their position. If they were desperate enough, there was no telling what the other tributes might do. He and Galen had been lucky. They'd found water. They had food. Other tributes who didn't might end up doing something as desperate and reckless as attacking a group of spiders if they thought they would get some food out of it.

Maybe. Most likely, anyone who had lasted this long would know better than to do anything rash. But it was always a possibility. Sometimes, tributes survived for most of the Games despite making stupid mistakes. He'd made a few, in his time. And Camryn and Euclid – they'd still been alive, even though Camryn had clearly been injured. If they'd lasted this long…

Aras leaned back against the wall of the cave, listening as Galen's breathing grew quieter beside him. How could he sleep? Maybe he was just that tired. Or maybe years of mentoring in a Career district had given him a layer of detachment that the rest of them lacked. Maybe he was more able to distance himself from the death around them.

Or maybe he was just tired. Aras glanced around at the bodies. Would _he_ be able to sleep, when it was his turn? He'd suggested moving somewhere else, but were they really going to find a better hiding spot? Camryn and Euclid had been hiding here since … when? The start of the Games? Certainly Camryn couldn't have gone far, wounded like that. They weren't that far from the cornucopia. Maybe…

No. No, there was no point in going back there – not yet. There might still be tributes there, and he wasn't ready for another fight. Neither of them was. Not tonight.

Aras shook his head. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, they could worry about where to go next. Tomorrow, they could figure out their next move. For now, the only important thing was that there _was_ a next move.

The important thing was that they were still alive.

* * *

 **Aelin Kuang, 60  
** **District One**

The important thing was that she was still alive.

Aelin sighed as she stood up again, stretching her legs. How long had it been? Five minutes? Ten? Maybe a little more. Certainly not more than a half hour or so, since she had decided to try to get some sleep. She should have known better. Should have known she wouldn't be able to sleep.

She had tried to tell herself that the important thing – the _only_ important thing – was that she was still alive. But how much longer would she stay that way if the audience – and the Gamemakers – didn't think that she was doing anything interesting? There were tributes out there who were fighting, who were killing. And here she was … what? Sleeping?

No, not even that. She hadn't been able to get to sleep. And if she couldn't sleep, then she might as well do something useful. Might as well at least _start_ making her way back along the tunnel. Chances were, it would start getting light again before she made it to the end and had to make a decision about what to do next. So she might as well make some progress.

And if she _did_ reach the fork in the tunnel where the Career pack had split, then maybe Clark would be there. Maybe. She shook her head as she started down the tunnel. Probably not. It wasn't a good place to stay for long – too vulnerable. But maybe if he was waiting for her…

But _would_ he be waiting for her? Would he really? Or would he simply assume that finding a sixty-year-old woman again was a lost cause and decide to go on – or go back to the cornucopia, maybe – without her? He'd been the first one to team up with Hatchet in the first place, of course – and she was even older – but that was different. Hatchet had been his district partner. She was…

Nothing. Nothing, to him. She was a Career. He wasn't. Even if it weren't for the difference in their ages, there was a whole world separating them. Why had she thought that teaming up with a non-Career from District Seven, of all places, was a good idea to begin with?

Aelin shook her head. She knew the answer to that, of course. The other Careers hadn't wanted to work with her and Hadrian. They'd had limited options. They'd looked for the best possible tributes to invite into the pack.

But now Hatchet, Maximus, Hadiran – they were all dead. She had no way of knowing whether Clark was still alive, or whether one of the most recent cannons had been his. If she made it back to the fork in the tunnel and he wasn't there, should she wait for him? Or continue on alone?

Aelin sighed, pushing her spear along the ground in front of her as she went, trying to keep from bumping into the wall of the tunnel in the pitch black. It would be a long time before she had to make that decision. She'd spent hours getting this far along in the tunnels. It would take her hours to get back. She would have plenty of time to decide.

But that also meant _Clark_ would have plenty of time to decide, if he was still alive. Time to decide whether to wait, or whether to go back to the cornucopia without her … if the cornucopia was even where he decided to go. If someone had killed Hatchet there and decided to stay, the cornucopia might not be safe, especially if he went back there alone.

Or if _she_ went back there alone.

No, going back to the cornucopia wasn't an option – not without Clark alongside. There was no telling who might be there. How large of a group might be there. She still had plenty of food and water to keep going for a while. There was no point in taking chances.

Taking chances, after all, was what had put her in this position. Splitting up in the tunnels had been a chance – a chance she had thought was the right one to take. But now … now she just wished she could go back. Wished they could all stay together.

But, more than anything, she just wished she knew whether Clark was alive.

* * *

 **Clark Tierney, 23  
** **District Seven**

He just wished he knew whether Aelin was still alive.

Clark closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that it was still safe to go back to sleep. There had been four cannons since he'd laid down to rest a while ago. How long had it been? An hour? Two? Four cannons in that span of time. Things were certainly moving quickly.

But was that good or bad?

Clark rolled over. It was certainly bad for anyone who was trying to sleep with the cannons constantly booming. Bad for anyone who slept _through_ them and lost track of how many tributes were left. The faces on the wall the next night would let them know who was left, but that was a long way away – if the Games even lasted that long. At the rate things were moving…

Clark sighed and slowly sat up. He wasn't going to be able to sleep; that much was obvious now. Did that mean he should get moving now – try to head back to where he had left Aelin? Hope that she was still there?

Hope that she was still _alive_?

The four cannons could have been anyone's, of course, but the three most recent ones had come one after another. If one of _those_ had been hers, it meant she'd taken out another tribute or two along the way … which certainly sounded like something she could be capable of. She'd killed two tributes during the bloodbath, after all. If she'd managed to sneak up on someone, she could easily have killed a tribute or two before being killed herself.

If someone had found _her_ , on the other hand, things might have gone differently. If she'd decided to settle down for the night, and someone had found her – or if they'd simply caught her off-guard or outnumbered – then the single cannon earlier might have been hers.

If he went back now, would anyone be waiting for him?

Clark started to stand up, but quickly decided against it. His hands and knees were starting to feel a little better, but they still ached where the lava had burned through his skin. He could afford to rest a little longer. Once morning came, things would start moving fast.

Very fast. The Games were already moving much faster than normal. His own Games had lasted eight days. They weren't even halfway to that length, and already there were only ten tributes left. How much longer did they have? A day? Maybe two?

Clark leaned back against the wall. All the more reason to rest now, while he could. He might not get the chance later, if things started moving quickly. He might not have another chance like this. So even if he wasn't going to be able to sleep – and that seemed likely – maybe it was still better to stay put.

Maybe it was better to rest while he could.

* * *

 **Cadaya Kallier, 43  
** **District Eight**

Maybe it was better to rest while she could.

Cadaya paced uneasily despite the absolute dark in the tunnels. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was someone nearby. Maybe she was simply being paranoid. Maybe killing Maximus had made her jittery. But being jittery had saved her life before. Getting rest now could be a dangerous mistake.

But it could be just as dangerous _not_ to. If she refused to sleep now, and someone caught her by surprise later because she was too tired to pay full attention to her surroundings, that could get her killed, too. There was no good answer. No right decision – especially now that she was on her own.

On her own. She hadn't expected to be on her own in the Games. Not this soon. It was only the start of the third day – and barely that. Maybe not even that, depending on where people started counting. If the tributes' faces on the wall marked the end of one day and the beginning of the next, then it was the third day. But if the day started when the lights came on, then it was still the second night.

Cadaya yawned, rubbing her eyes in the dark – as if that would help her see any better. Her eyelids were already starting to droop, but she didn't dare lie down – not yet. She'd thought about trying to find a better hiding place, but was she really going to be able to find anything better in the dark? No, chances were, she'd stumble into some sort of trap or something even worse than what might happen if she stayed put.

But if she stayed put…

How long would it be before the Gamemakers decided that she needed to get moving? Would they be content to wait until morning – when she could at least see what she was doing – or would they want her to get moving sooner than that?

Just then, her foot kicked something. It was all Cadaya could do not to shout in surprise. But it wasn't another tribute – or even a mutt. It was Maximus' body. In the dark, she'd nearly tripped over it.

Cadaya clenched her teeth. That settled it. She couldn't stay here. Not any longer. She had to get moving. Reaching down, she picked up Maximus' club and took a few steps forward until her hands brushed against the wall. If she just followed that, she would be safe.

At least, as safe as anyone could expect to be in the pitch dark in a tunnel in the arena. As safe as anyone could expect to be in the Games. Which wasn't particularly safe at all, now that she thought about it, but it wouldn't be any safer to stay. It wouldn't be any safer to wait. And it could be worse.

It could always be worse.

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 21  
** **District Four**

It could always be worse.

Cedra shook her head, turning her rapier over in her hands. Freya was sleeping soundly – just as Gareth had been when she'd killed him. Not that she had any intention of killing Freya. Not really. But she hadn't really thought about killing Gareth either – not before he'd made her suspicious. Had she been right to worry? Had he really meant to kill her?

It didn't matter. Not now. Not when he was already dead. Not when there were only ten of them left. He was dead. She was still alive. She couldn't afford to keep worrying about what he _might_ have done. All that mattered was what she _had_ done.

She had killed.

She had killed – but neither kill had been anything particularly impressive. She'd killed a seventy-seven-year-old woman and a sleeping man. Some Career she was turning out to be. During her first Games, she'd had only three kills, but at least those had been during a _fight_. She'd been battling equals – or, at least, tributes who'd had a _chance_.

She had thought, with other Victors in the Games, that it would be more of a challenge. Not that it hadn't been a challenge the first time around. But she'd thought that … well, now that it came down to it, she wasn't sure what she'd expected. Had she expected to feel less guilt over killing people who had already won the Games once, who had a chance in a fair fight against her, rather than fighting untrained youngsters from the outer districts? Maybe. Maybe that was it.

But that wasn't what had happened at all.

Not so far, at least. There was still a chance that she would be faced with a fair fight. But was that even what she wanted? Was it what she should be hoping for? Maybe she should be _grateful_ she hadn't faced a real fight yet. She was one of the younger Victors, after all. A fair fight would mean fighting someone with more experience, more knowledge, someone who'd had more time to recover from their own Games.

Was that really what she wanted?

Cedra shook her head. Silly question. She hadn't _wanted_ any of this. None of them wanted to be here. Even Careers like herself – and like Freya – who had volunteered for the Games willingly – even eagerly – the first time … they hadn't wanted to be here, either. This was different. This was unpredictable.

And she'd never thought it would be moving this fast.

Two days – that was all it had been since the start of the Games. And already there were only ten of them left. Maybe that was only to be expected. Usually, it took a while for some of the tributes to decide that they were actually willing to fight. This year, they'd already made that decision – some of them twenty or thirty years ago, or more. They were all willing to fight.

Was that why things were moving so quickly?

Maybe that was a good thing. After all, it meant the Games would be over sooner. Her own Games had only been seven days long, and that had been far too long a time to spend in the arena. If she could be out of _these_ Games in another day or two…

The other option, of course, was that she could be _dead_ in a day or two.

* * *

 **Silvesta Ardin, 47  
** **District Twelve**

She could be dead in a day or two.

Silvesta shook her head as the three of them continued onwards in the dark. They'd been turning Shyanne's rod on intermittently so they could see a little of the path ahead. Was that why they hadn't found anyone? Had they seen the light and run away? Maybe. But what other choice did they have? What was the point in _having_ a light if they weren't going to use it?

And maybe … maybe it was a good thing the other tributes were running away. It meant they could appear to be making progress while not actually having to fight. And that … well, that seemed like a pretty good arrangement to her. She hadn't wanted to fight. She'd volunteered this time, yes, but she'd volunteered to save Moira's life. She hadn't really wanted to fight.

She hadn't really wanted to kill.

Suddenly, her foot touched something in the dark. She nearly screamed, but, instead, backed away and pointed. "There," she hissed, thinking that maybe they'd stumbled across another tribute – too tired or too injured to notice she'd just bumped right into them. Or maybe someone was playing dead. Hoping they would move on.

Shyanne crept forward and shone her light near the tribute, inching it closer until they could finally tell who it was. Maximus. Silvesta breathed a sigh of relief. His face had been one of the ones on the wall … what? A few hours ago? Was that all it had been?

Just then, Shyanne's rod came down – hard – against the body's head. There was a crack – a terrible crack. Silvesta screamed, startled. "He's already dead!"

Shyanne giggled a little. "I just wanted to make sure."

Silvesta took a step back. Then another. Away from the light that Shyanne was shining towards her. Maybe she'd meant it as a joke. Maybe she hadn't really meant any harm. But there was something in the girl's voice – something that hadn't been there before.

Silvesta started running.

One step, then another, plunging forward in the dark. She had to get away. It didn't sound like the others were coming after her – and, when she looked, she couldn't see the light from Shyanne's rod – but it didn't matter. She could have turned it off. Maybe they were being quiet. She couldn't take that chance. She had to get away.

Then she heard something. Footsteps. Coming towards her. But not from behind. From up ahead. Something collided with her in the dark. Silvesta couldn't help a scream as something struck her in the face. Something hard and fast and … wooden? Maybe. She could feel splinters sinking into her face as blood began to pool in her mouth. "Wait!"

But her attacker didn't wait. The club – if that was, in fact, what it was – swung again, this time striking her cheek. Silvesta took a step back, but it was no good. The other tribute was faster. Stronger. Or maybe just more desperate. Maybe just as afraid as she was.

She had been running, after all – in the other tribute's direction. Maybe the other tribute had thought they were being chased. Silvesta held her hands up in front of her face to shield herself. "Stop! I'm not going to—"

 _I'm not going to hurt you_. That was how the sentence was going to end. But she never got to finish it. The next blow struck her directly in the temple, and she crumpled to the ground, pain coursing through her body. Too weak to say anything. Too weak to do anything but try to make out the blurry image of her attacker as the club came down once more.

She almost thought she heard the cannon echoing faintly in the tunnels as the world started to fade.

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

 _Boom._

Valion glanced over at Shyanne, who was still staring off into the dark, as the cannon sounded. There had been a scream only a few seconds before – in the direction Silvesta had been running. Obviously, she had found someone – and one of them had killed the other.

But which one? Was Silvesta still alive, or…

Or had the cannon been hers?

Shyanne was still staring. "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to scare her away. I just … I just wanted to make sure … I didn't want it to be a trick."

Valion nodded. "I would have done the same thing." And he might have. It wouldn't be unthinkable for the Gamemakers to trick them into thinking a particular tribute was dead. Maximus wouldn't have been his first choice for such a trick, but it never hurt to make sure. And a blow to the head was a safer way to make sure that a body was, in fact, a body – and not a living, breathing tribute – than kneeling down beside it to check for breathing or a pulse. What she'd done had been smart. Maybe even clever.

It wasn't her fault Silvesta hadn't had the stomach for it.

That was what he was trying to tell himself, at least. That what Shyanne had done was perfectly reasonable. In reality, there was a part of him that had wanted to run, too, when he'd seen that look in her eyes. The same look he'd seen during her first Games, when her allies had left her to die. When she'd realized exactly what she would have to do in order to survive.

What they _all_ had to do in order to survive.

Valion clenched his fists tightly. Shyanne hadn't done anything wrong. A bit disturbing, maybe, but the fact was that Maximus was already dead. There was no harm in hitting a corpse. It wasn't as if Maximus had felt it. Silvesta was just being skittish.

And it might have cost her her life.

Valion put an arm around Shyanne's shoulders, and, to his relief, she didn't pull away. "Let's go see what happened," he said softly, hoping it was the right thing to say. If Silvesta was still alive, maybe they would be able to reason with her, convince her to come back. And if she was dead…

If she was dead, maybe it was better that they find out now – rather than waiting until her face appeared on the wall. If she was dead, maybe they could still find whoever had killed her. Maybe they could at least appear to be avenging their fallen ally, even if it was her own fault she'd run away in the first place.

Either way, there was no harm in going forward. Nothing to fear – except the knowledge of what had happened. Silvesta might have been killed. Or she might still be alive.

Wasn't it better to know?

* * *

 **Shyanne James, 19  
** **District Five**

She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Shyanne gripped Valion's hand, clutching her rod tightly in the other, as the pair of them continued onward in the dark. She hadn't meant to scare Silvesta away. She'd just been scared. Scared that Maximus might be playing a trick. That the Gamemakers might be playing a trick.

It wasn't as if she'd killed him. Wasn't as if he'd felt it when she'd bashed his skull in. He was already dead. So why had Silvesta run?

Would she even _want_ them to find her again?

Slowly, the two of them continued onwards. It was pitch black, but she didn't want to turn the rod on again. Not yet. Not when the look on her face might have been what had scared Silvesta away in the first place. If she saw them coming, would she wait for them to find her? Or would she keep running?

Or was she already dead?

Silence. There was only silence in the tunnel as she and Valion kept moving forward. Neither of them wanted to say anything. There was nothing _to_ say. Either Silvesta was still alive, or…

Or she wasn't. Someone was dead. Maybe it was her. Maybe it wasn't. Either way, they would find out soon.

Suddenly, Valion stopped short. "Turn on the light, Shyanne."

Shyanne shook her head. "Why?"

"Because I just stepped in blood."

She didn't bother asking how he knew. How he knew it was blood and not water. Once she took another step, she could feel it, too – warm and wet beneath her feet. Immediately, she turned the rod on, and light filled the tunnel, revealing a body.

Silvesta's body.

There was no one else around. Whoever had killed her had fled. But the damage was done. Her skull had been smashed, her face barely recognizable. Shyanne gripped Valion's hand even tighter. Who had done this?

Who _could_ have done this?

Someone strong, perhaps – or simply someone frightened enough to strike with deadly force on the first few blows. And Silvesta … she'd had no way to defend herself. Shyanne fought back the lump in her throat. She had the only real weapon in their group. Silvesta had run off without her – without _them_. Of course she'd been killed by the first tribute she came across. How had she expected to be able to kill anyone else without a weapon?

The obvious answer, of course, was that she hadn't. She hadn't expected to kill anyone. She hadn't _wanted_ to kill anyone. She'd volunteered for the Games, yes, but she hadn't really wanted to fight. She hadn't really wanted to kill.

And now she wouldn't have to.

* * *

 **Freya Basnett, 44  
** **District Two**

They wouldn't have to wait long.

Freya sat up slowly as the cannon echoed through the tunnels. That was five. Five cannons during the night. Five cannons in the span of a few hours. Things were moving quickly.

A little _too_ quickly for her liking.

She'd expected to be able to rest for the night, at least, without any danger. But now even that possibility was looking slimmer and slimmer. Tributes were fighting. Killing. _Someone_ was out hunting in the dark.

But the dark … it didn't seem quite so dark anymore. "Do you think it's getting lighter?" she asked before she even realized she was saying the words aloud. But the fact that she could see Cedra nod in response answered her question. It _was_ getting lighter.

It didn't seem right – didn't seem like it had been a full night. But here, underground, the Gamemakers could turn the lights on whenever they wanted. It probably wasn't day yet on the surface. But maybe they were so impressed that tributes had kept killing each other during the night that they'd decided to keep the Games moving. Maybe it was a reward.

Whoever survived would get to leave the arena that much sooner.

But that came with a price. If the Games continued at this pace, that meant the rest of the tributes would _die_ that much sooner. She'd tried to tell herself that she was prepared for that. That, when the time came, she would be prepared to die, if that was what was going to happen. But, now that it came down to it, she wasn't ready.

Maybe no one ever was.

She wasn't ready to die. But maybe … well, maybe that meant she was finally ready to fight. _Willing_ to fight. Maybe she was even willing to kill, if it came to that.

 _When_ it came to that. Because that was the only certainty of the Games. Kill or be killed. Win or die. And, now that it came down to it, she knew. She wasn't ready to die.

Did that mean she was ready to kill?

* * *

 **Moira Campbell, 79  
** **District Twelve Mentor**

She hadn't been prepared to kill.

Moira shook her head as she watched Cadaya disappear down another tunnel. Valion and Shyanne wouldn't catch her – not for a while, at least. Even with the lights coming back on all around the arena, Silvesta's killer had too much of a head start. And she'd taken a fork in the path. Even if they could keep up, Shyanne and Valion would have no way of knowing which way she'd gone.

But that wouldn't stop them from following.

Moira watched silently as the two of them set out. Set out to … what? To avenge Silvesta's death? Was that even what she would have wanted? She hadn't really fought back, in the end. She'd tried to shield herself from Cadaya's blows, but, even when she'd been attacked, she still hadn't wanted to fight.

That didn't make any sense to her.

Moira took another drink as Henley took a seat beside her. "Why didn't she fight?" the younger Victor asked bitterly. "She could have fought back – tried to get a punch or two in, tried to grab the club. That's the only reason Cadaya had it in the first place; she fought back when Maximus attacked her."

Moira shook her head. "It's not the same."

And it wasn't. But not because of the circumstances. For all intents and purposes, the circumstances had been nearly identical. But it _was_ different – because of the tributes. Cadaya had fought because she'd wanted to come home. To return to her husband, her children, her district. Silvesta … well, if she'd cared that much about coming home, she wouldn't have volunteered in the first place.

Moira leaned back in her chair. That wasn't fair. Silvesta had saved her life, after all. But Moira hadn't _asked_ her to. She would never have asked Silvesta to sacrifice herself so that she could live. But she'd done it anyway.

The only thing she could do now was make sure that sacrifice hadn't been in vain. Silvesta wouldn't be coming home – and neither would Felix – but she could do her best to mentor whatever tributes she had next year – and the next, and the next. Because there was no other option. It was her and Henley now.

Neither of them had a choice.

* * *

" _There is no indignity in being afraid to die, but there is a terrible shame in being afraid to live."_


	35. Kind

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the Victor poll if you haven't already. A new one will (yikes!) be up with the next chapter.

* * *

 **Day Three  
** **Kind**

* * *

 **Audric Voltaire, 72  
** **District Five Mentor**

There was nothing either of them could have done.

Audric leaned back in his chair as Shyanne and Valion headed down the tunnel, searching for the tribute who had killed Silvesta. Both were silent. Blaming themselves, perhaps, for what had happened. But it hadn't been their fault. Silvesta had made her choice.

A stupid choice, to be sure – running off without her allies. Then again, she _had_ volunteered for the Games a second time, so maybe some reckless decisions once she was in the Games were only to be expected.

He just hoped his tributes would see it that way.

His tributes. Audric took another long drink. He hoped they'd made the right choice when they'd decided to follow Cadaya. They had no way of knowing it was her, of course. No way of knowing she was only armed with a club, although they might have figured out a thing or two about the weapon from Silvesta's injuries. Still, they had no idea who they were chasing.

Then again, Silvesta hadn't known who she was fighting, either. In the pitch black, she probably hadn't been able to tell who Cadaya was. And Cadaya … would she have known, either? She'd heard Silvesta's voice, but had she recognized it? Had she put the pieces together and realized who she was attacking?

Maybe. It probably didn't matter. If she hadn't thought twice about killing her district partner, there was no reason to think she wouldn't have attacked Silvesta, even if she'd known who she was facing.

Not that he blamed her. He would have done the same thing. Maybe worse. He'd killed eleven tributes during his own Games, including his own district partner. He'd killed Rufus, just to ensure that his tributes would have a better chance of surviving. There was no room in the Games for hesitation, for sympathy. That could wait.

That could wait until one of them came home.

And that could be soon. It was barely past three in the morning, but the Gamemakers had already started turning on the lights in the tunnels. The tributes would be tired. Disoriented. They would start making mistakes. And mistakes – especially this late in the Games – could be deadly.

They knew better, of course. Every single person in the arena had survived once, and not by making stupid mistakes. But that had been years ago – decades, for some of them. Older Victors.

Victors like him.

Audric shook the thought from his head. He wasn't in the arena. And he was grateful for that much, at least. Whatever happened over the next few days, he would be going home. Home to his wife. That much was certain.

The only question was whether anyone else would be going home with him.

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

He wished they could both be going home.

Valion held tightly onto Shyanne's hand as they made their way through the tunnels. The tunnels were no longer quite as dark, but neither of them wanted to let go. They had just lost Silvesta. Shyanne had lost Felix. They didn't want to lose each other.

But, eventually, one of them would have to lose. If he was going to win, she had to lose. She had to die. Just like Silvesta had needed to die eventually, if one of them was going to make it back.

No. No, not 'one of them.' Him. He wanted to be the one to make it back. Back to his wife. His daughter. His grandchildren. And now there were only eight tributes standing in his way. One of them was somewhere ahead of him in the tunnels.

And another was walking beside him. Holding his hand. Maybe wondering – just as he was – how long this could last. How long they could keep helping each other. And what would happen if it came down to the two of them.

There wasn't a question, really, of what would happen. What would have to happen. They had both killed before, in order to come home. And they would both kill again, if that was what it took. Not because that was what they wanted, but because there was no other choice. There was no other way out.

"Which way?" Shyanne's voice startled him out of his thoughts. They'd come to a fork in the path. The light in both directions was a pale yellow. There were no footprints. Nothing at all to indicate which way they should go. Which way Silvesta's killer had gone.

Valion took a few steps forward, making a show of studying both passageways carefully. It didn't matter which way they chose – not really. It didn't even really matter whether or not they found whoever had killed Silvesta. What mattered was that it _looked_ like they were trying to find them. Trying to exact their revenge. As long as the audience was convinced they were _looking_ , that would be good enough.

So he spent a few moments studying the stones along each path, pretending to look for evidence they both knew was nowhere to be found. "Right," he decided at last, and Shyanne didn't argue. Maybe she realized that one path was as good as the other. Maybe she thought he had actually found something. It didn't really matter which, as long as she didn't say anything that would give away the fact that … well, that there was nothing to give away.

As they continued down the path, however, Valion thought – for a moment – that he heard something in the distance ahead. Breathing, and maybe a few footsteps. Maybe they had made the right choice. Or maybe he was simply imagining things. Either way, they would have to be ready.

Valion finally let go of Shyanne's hand. "I think I hear someone," he whispered. Shyanne nodded silently. Maybe she heard it, too. Maybe she was pretending. But if there _was_ someone ahead – no matter how far – they would have to be ready.

Because they couldn't keep running forever.

* * *

 **Cadaya Kallier, 43  
** **District Eight**

She couldn't keep running forever.

Cadaya finally slowed down, then stopped, gasping for breath. It almost seemed as if the air in the tunnels was growing thinner. Or maybe it was her imagination. Or maybe she simply wasn't used to running for so long. Not anymore.

Either way, running wasn't the answer. Not a helpful one, anyways. She wasn't even sure who she was running from. She had some idea of whose blood was on her club. It had sounded like Silvesta. And she had been allies with … Valion? Was that it? If he was the only one who was following her, then maybe she didn't _need_ to keep running. Maybe she could turn and fight.

But she was tired of fighting. Tired of killing. She had only attacked Silvesta because she had been afraid. In the dark, she had thought that maybe one of the Careers was following her. And maybe Silvesta _had_ been following her. Maybe her insistence that she hadn't wanted to hurt her had just been a desperate lie.

Or maybe … maybe she was just unlucky. Maybe she had been running from someone else. Maybe she had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Cadaya gripped her club. It didn't matter. Silvesta was dead. Just like Maximus.

And she was still alive.

Cadaya took a few steps forward. Then a few more. Suddenly, something gave way below her feet. Startled, she quickly took a step back. In her panic, she hadn't even been looking at the ground. But now she could see that the patches of ground in front of her were soft and almost … sandy. Like a pool of quicksand, blocking her path.

Cadaya turned her club over in her hands. Okay. She wasn't going to be able to get past. She would have to fight – if someone was, indeed, following her. Slowly, she took a few steps backward – then a few more – until the quicksand was out of sight. Better to keep it a secret. If her pursuers didn't know what lay ahead, she would have an advantage. Maybe it wasn't much, but any little thing could be crucial in the Games.

Just then, a sound interrupted her thoughts. Footsteps. Coming from up ahead. Cadaya took a few steps to the left, pressing her body against the wall. If the other tribute passed her by, she could attack from behind – maybe shove them into the quicksand before they realized what was happening.

But as Valion rounded the corner, she knew she wouldn't get that lucky. Sure enough, he was alone, a metal rod in his hands. His eyes found her immediately. "So it was you."

Cadaya nodded slightly, biting back an apology. What was she supposed to say? _I'm sorry for killing your ally, but I thought she was about to attack me_? Better to say nothing.

Valion took a few steps closer. Then a few more. Cadaya took a step backwards. Then another. If she could lure him a little closer, if she could keep his focus on her…

He swung. She ducked beneath his first blow, then caught the next on her own club. Circling around. Driving him backwards. The next time, she swung – hard. He ducked, but he was slower. Tired. Maybe just as tired as she was.

But she only needed to last a little longer than he did.

* * *

 **Shyanne James, 19  
** **District Five**

She only needed to wait a little longer.

Shyanne crept closer to the fight. Closer. Little by little. Staying in the shadows. Valion was doing his job – keeping Cadaya distracted. Keeping her attention on him, rather than the girl who was slowly creeping towards the fight.

It had been Valion's idea – and a pretty good one, too. Whoever had killed Silvesta, he had reasoned, probably knew that the two of them had been allies. They would be expecting Valion. But not her. None of the other tributes would know that she had joined up with Silvesta and Valion. That would give them an advantage – no matter how small.

It _was_ a small one, though, because now she had no weapon. But the alternative – letting Valion confront Cadaya without any way to defend himself – had been even worse. She would just have to trust him to keep Cadaya distracted long enough for her to … what? Wrap her hands around her throat? Bash her head in with the rock she had picked up along the way? Neither of those seemed like a quick option, but what other choice was there?

Valion ducked in time to avoid the worst of Cadaya's next blow, but it still grazed his arm. He couldn't help a cry of pain as she continued to advance. Shyanne swallowed hard. Valion was tiring. If she was going to do something, she would need to do it soon.

The next blow caught Valion on the leg, and he toppled to the ground. Cadaya raised her club, but, even as she did, Shyanne charged, wrapping her arms around Cadaya's waist. She'd only been hoping to distract her, to stop her from striking Valion, but Cadaya, caught completely off-guard, toppled forward, dragging Shyanne with her.

Shyanne braced herself, prepared to collide with the cave floor. But, instead, they landed on something soft. _In_ something soft. Shyanne gasped in surprise as the sand gave way beneath her, and both she and Cadaya began to sink. "Help!" Shyanne called instinctively, ignoring the woman beside her. "Valion, help!"

Immediately, Valion reached out, but his arms weren't long enough. Shyanne could feel herself sinking deeper as Valion stretched out her rod, instead. Her fingers caught hold of it, but, even as they did, she could feel Cadaya's arms around her waist. Valion pulled – maybe hoping to be able to pull both of them in – but the sand wouldn't let go. Shyanne kicked and thrashed, trying to free herself from Cadaya's grip as the pair of them sank deeper.

Finally, one of her blows caught Cadaya in the face. Cadaya cried out, more startled than hurt, and finally let go of Shyanne's waist, all but her head disappearing beneath the surface of the sand. Shyanne looked away. She couldn't watch. But, in a moment, she heard the cannon.

But hers would soon follow if she didn't do something. Her grip on the rod was keeping her from sinking, but Valion hadn't been able to pull her out. He wasn't strong enough.

Or maybe … maybe the Gamemakers simply weren't willing to let her go. Shyanne gripped the rod as tightly as she could, but she could feel her fingers starting to slip. Was this what they'd wanted all along? When they'd sent the spiders for Felix, she had thought that maybe she would be spared, as long as she pretended to go along with the Capitol. Maybe she should have known better.

Fighting back tears, Shyanne met Valion's gaze. He shook his head. "Don't let go. Don't you _dare_ let go. We'll figure something out. I'll figure something out. You just have to hold on."

She wished she could. But her hands were growing number. She could barely feel her fingers. The sand was up to her neck. He wasn't going to be able to pull her out, and if he stayed here much longer, someone else might find him. Or, worse, he might be pulled in alongside her. Shyanne shook her head, but even that small movement took all her effort. "It's all right, Valion," she whispered. "Go home."

Then she let go.

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

There was nothing he could do.

Valion stretched out as far as he dared over the quicksand as Shyanne let go of the rod, her head quickly disappearing below the surface. "No!" he shouted. "No! Don't! You can do it – just reach!"

But she couldn't. She was gone. A moment later, the cannon sounded. "No," Valion whispered, but even as the word left his mouth, he pulled the rod back, backing safely away from the quicksand. "No."

This wasn't what they had planned. He hadn't counted on the quicksand. Had Cadaya known? Maybe. Maybe she'd even been trying to lure him closer to it. But she hadn't expected Shyanne to attack. She'd only been expecting him. She'd thought he was alone.

Valion shook his head. If he'd been alone, he would have died. Then again, if he'd been alone, he probably wouldn't have come after her in the first place. Maybe following her had been a mistake. Maybe he and Shyanne would have been better of if…

No. No, there was no point in second-guessing his choice. Both he and Shyanne had agreed to follow whoever had killed Silvesta. What had been their other choice? Turning back? No, that wasn't an option. Not really. And the Gamemakers might have even sent mutts to steer them in this direction, anyway. This was a fight they'd wanted to happen.

They'd wanted Shyanne dead.

It wouldn't seem that way, of course – not to the audience. It would seem like cleverness on Cadaya's part – and his. Cadaya had been clever in luring them towards the quicksand. He had been clever in telling Shyanne to stay hidden.

And he was still alive.

Valion sank silently to the ground, clutching Shyanne's rod. His leg ached where Cadaya had struck him with her club. He was exhausted. But he was alive. _Go home_ , she had said. And he wanted to – now more than ever. But was that really a possibility? If the Gamemakers had made sure that Shyanne would die…

No. No, if they'd wanted him dead, too, the sand could have pulled him in, as well. Or they could have steered another tribute in his direction while he was trying to save Shyanne. He hadn't been part of Rufus' plan. He'd defended the rules of the Games during his own interview. He'd been looking out for Shyanne, accepted her into their alliance, but only once she'd said that she'd killed Felix.

Maybe that would be enough.

Slowly, Valion stood up. He had to keep moving. He couldn't stay here, next to the sand that had swallowed Shyanne. His ally. His district partner. The girl he had brought home seven years ago.

The girl who wouldn't be coming home.

* * *

 **Clark Tierney, 23  
** **District Seven**

Two more cannons.

Slowly, Clark got to his feet. Two cannons since it had started getting brighter in the tunnels. Maybe it was time. Time to get moving again. His limbs still ached, but that wasn't going to change – unless he survived. If he made it through the Games, he would have plenty of time to rest. If he survived, he would be safe.

Of course, that's what he'd told himself last time. That was how he'd gotten through the Games five years ago. _Just get through this, and you'll be safe._ But he still wasn't safe. These Games were a terrible reminder that no one was safe. Ever.

But he could worry about that later. If he survived, he could worry about what would come next. Right now, he had to get moving. And heading back to where he, Maximus, and Aelin had parted ways seemed like the only reasonable option.

Reasonable. As if any option was still reasonable. There had been six cannons since the tributes' faces had appeared on the wall. There were only seven tributes – six besides him – left in the arena. There was a fifty-fifty chance that Aelin wasn't even alive.

Still, he kept moving. What other choice was there? Head back to where the lava was and look for a way across, or hope another tribute stumbled along? No, the only way to go was back towards the fork in the tunnels. Back towards the cornucopia.

So he gripped his axe and kept walking. One step. Then another. Slowly. There was no real reason to rush. If Aelin was there, she could wait a little longer. If she had decided not to wait for him, then she had probably already left. And if she was dead … well, then she was dead. There was nothing he could do about that.

There was nothing he could do about any of it.

Finally, the tunnel widened. Clark glanced around. There was no sign of her. But she might be hiding – especially if she hadn't known he was the one coming. "Aelin?" he called as loudly as he dared. It was a risk, he knew. If there were other tributes in the area…

Then what? If there were other tributes nearby, chances were the Gamemakers would steer them towards each other eventually. If there was someone near enough to hear him, they could probably already see him. It wasn't exactly an ideal hiding place. And if Aelin _did_ happen to be nearby…

"Clark?" The voice was coming from the tunnel on the right – the one Aelin had chosen. Clark hurried over, and, to his relief, saw only Aelin, making her way slowly towards him. To his surprise, she was smiling. "So you're alive!"

Clark was surprised to realize he was smiling, too. "So are you," he observed, and Aelin giggled a little. Almost like a schoolgirl. As if the Games – or maybe the realization that her ally was still alive – had made her younger again. She hurried forward and clapped Clark on the back.

"It's good to see you, kid."

* * *

 **Aelin Kuang, 60  
** **District One**

"It's good to see you, kid."

Aelin smiled as she clapped Clark on the back. She could only hope that it looked like she was relieved because she hadn't lost a valuable ally. The truth was, she'd been hoping he was alive – and not just because he'd be useful in a fight. She hadn't wanted to be alone. Not when there were still seven tributes left in the arena. And not just because he would seem like a more intimidating ally.

She had actually _missed_ him.

Aelin clutched her spear as the two of them headed down the tunnel. That sort of thinking was dangerous. Stupid, even. Especially for a Career. But seeing him again after almost a whole day of not knowing whether he was dead or alive … it was a relief. Whatever was about to happen, she wouldn't be facing it alone.

But, eventually, she would have to. He was alive now, but he would have to die, eventually, if she wanted to make it home. And she did – now more than ever. She had never felt more alive, and she wanted to hold onto that feeling as long as she could. And that meant surviving these Games.

It was almost funny. When she'd volunteered, she hadn't thought it would matter this much – whether she lived or died. She had thought that maybe a good death – going out with a bang rather than slowly slipping into senility – would be just as good as winning. Maybe even better. But these last few days … they'd reminded her of what it felt like to _live_. To really live.

And she wanted more of that.

But in order to get it, there were still six more tributes who would have to die – including the boy beside her. But not yet. There had been so many cannons during the night – and two more since the Gamemakers had turned the lights back on. Tributes were fighting. Killing. She would need Clark for a while longer, if she wanted to survive this. And she did. There were still seven tributes left, after all.

Seven tributes left. Seven. And she hadn't had a kill since the bloodbath. Clark, on the other had, had apparently had better luck. He'd certainly been in a fight, judging by the burns on his hands and knees. "So what happened?" she asked, hoping it wasn't too awkward of a thing to say. If he were a Career, he would already be bragging about his heroic fight, about how many tributes he'd killed. But he wasn't…

"Ebony," he answered at last. "I found her near a pit of lava. We fought, and … well, I won."

He was trying to sound modest. Or maybe sound like he wasn't glad that she'd died. But Aelin smiled a little and clapped him on the back again. "Good job." And she meant it. Taking on a tribute about his age, and coming away with only a few scrapes and burns – not bad at all.

"Sponsors sent me this," he offered, producing some cream. "For the burns. Guess they were a little impressed, at least."

Aelin nodded, trying to hide a look of jealousy. She had no need for burn cream, of course, but the fact that the sponsors had sent him something – anything – meant they thought he had a chance. That there was someone in the Capitol who was supporting him.

A silly thing to be jealous of, of course. She didn't _need_ burn cream. In fact, she didn't _need_ anything. If she had, the sponsors would surely have sent her something.

Wouldn't they?

* * *

 **Clark Tierney, 23  
** **District Seven**

Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned his sponsor gift.

Clark watched Aelin closely as the two continued down the tunnel. Had he made a mistake? He'd been trying to act like a Career – like he belonged with her. Trying to paint his fight in the best light, pointing out that the sponsors had been impressed enough to send him something. But ever since he'd brought out the burn cream, Aelin had been quiet.

Was she jealous? That seemed a bit silly – a sixty-year-old Career jealous of him. If she'd needed something, after all, he had no doubt the sponsors would have sent her something. She was just lucky she hadn't been in a _position_ to need anything in the first place.

But maybe … maybe _that_ was what she was really jealous of. She'd been the one to suggest splitting up in the tunnels. Had she made the suggestion because she'd wanted to find a tribute on her own? Was she jealous that he'd been in a fight, and she hadn't?

That seemed even sillier. After all, it had cost him. The sponsors had only sent a gift because he'd _needed_ it, and his hands and knees still stung. But maybe … maybe that was part of being a Career – wanting to fight even if it hurt. _Especially_ if it hurt.

Clark glanced over at Aelin. If that was what being a Career meant, he didn't want it. He'd never wanted it. He'd made it through his first Games, yes. He'd killed. He'd done what he had to in order to survive. But he'd never enjoyed it. And he had certainly never wanted _more_. Try as he might, he couldn't quite grasp the idea of _wanting_ to be in the Games.

"Which way?" Clark asked at last, trying to break the tension. They'd made their way back to the first fork they'd come across after leaving the cornucopia. The day before, they'd gone right and found a shallow pool. So a left now would bring them back to the cornucopia. But was that what they wanted?

"There might be tributes back at the cornucopia," Aelin suggested.

Clark nodded, quickly reminding himself that, in her mind, that was a reason to go _back_ – not to stay away. "You think whoever killed Hatchet is still there?"

"Or maybe nearby. Can't hurt to have a look – freshen up, get some more supplies. See who we might still be up against."

She was right. There was no harm in going back and looking. If there was a large group there, they could always turn around again. Not that there were likely to _be_ any large groups at the cornucopia – or anywhere. Who would be the largest group that was left?

Maybe Galen, Aras, and Jani. He hadn't seen any of their faces on the wall. Demetrius and Irina were both dead, leaving Gareth on his own – if he was even still alive. Shyanne would be alone, too, with Evo and Felix dead. Other than that – and aside from their own group – there hadn't been very many large alliances to _begin_ with. Any of the lone tributes – or even groups of two … that was probably a fight they would win. That left Galen, Aras, and Jani. Two older men – even older than Aelin – and a Victor who had killed only one tribute during his own Games. That didn't seem like much to worry about.

Clark shook the thought from his head as the two of them headed back towards the cornucopia. He couldn't afford to get cocky. Not now. Not when he was so close. There were no guarantees. No easy wins. He couldn't assume anything about the other tributes who were left.

After all, they'd made it this far.

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 21  
** **District Four**

Part of her still couldn't believe they'd made it this far.

Cedra glanced around their small hideout as she and Freya prepared to leave. There wasn't much preparing to do, but she and Freya were both stretching out the process as long as they could. As strange as it might be, she'd started to feel safe here. Cannons had sounded outside in the tunnels, but here, by their little pool, there hadn't been any real danger.

Well, except for Gareth, but she'd dealt with that. Just like she would deal with whatever was out there, Cedra told herself, grasping her rapier tightly. There were only seven of them left. Only seven tributes remaining in the whole arena.

And she was one of them.

Cedra shook her head. She'd earned it. She'd killed two tributes. Freya … what had she done? She'd watched as the rest of them had taken down Euclid and Hatchet. She'd run off after a tribute who might not even have existed. What right did she have to be standing here, in the final seven?

 _Stop it._ Cedra clenched her teeth. She needed Freya. For now, at least. Together, the two of them could handle … well, probably pretty much any other tribute they might happen to come across. Two Careers, venturing across the arena, scouring the tunnels for stray tributes. It felt almost … right.

No, not right. But it certainly felt familiar. This was what she had envisioned during her own Games. That time, everything had turned out wrong. Her allies, her training score, the Games. She had survived, but it hadn't been the glorious victory she'd dreamed of when she had volunteered for the Games.

Maybe now she had another chance.

"Ready?" Freya asked. Cedra nodded, and they both headed for the end of the passageway. A right turn would lead them back to the cornucopia. A left would lead…

Where? They had no way of knowing what they might find. But left was the obvious choice, and the way Cedra turned without even consulting Freya. They'd already taken what they needed from the cornucopia. They had food. They had weapons. Euclid and Hatchet were dead, so, chances were, there weren't any tributes back there, anyway. No, they would have better luck exploring the tunnels in the other direction.

At least, she hoped they would. Because if they didn't find anyone – and if the Gamemakers realized there was no one else in the area – they might decide to herd them back towards the cornucopia. Which wasn't a problem – she might actually appreciate a little outside direction – but the Gamemakers had a tendency to use mutts to herd tributes together, and didn't seem to particularly care whether a tribute or two got injured in the process.

No. No, she didn't want that. Not now. Both she and Freya had made it this far without injury. They were in good shape. They didn't need to ruin that now.

But as the pair continued along the tunnels, they didn't see any mutts. _Good._ Maybe that meant there were tributes in this direction. Or maybe it simply meant there had been enough action recently, and the Gamemakers were willing to let them wander for a while.

She wasn't really sure which to hope for.

* * *

 **Freya Basnett, 44  
** **District Two**

She wasn't quite sure what she should be hoping for.

Freya glanced over at Cedra, who was fingering her rapier anxiously. Almost _eagerly_. Was she putting on a show for the audience? Pretending to be eager for a fight? Or was she really _hoping_ to find someone in the tunnels up ahead?

Freya turned her sword over in her hands. There was no point, really, in worrying about what might be ahead. In trying to figure out whether she would rather find someone or come up empty-handed. Whatever was going to happen, it would happen whether she was busy thinking about it or not. They didn't really have any say in the matter.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She'd had some say. She'd chosen to come back and find Cedra instead of exploring the tunnels on her own. She'd chosen to be a Career again. And now she was expected to act like one.

Cedra clearly understood that. She was glancing back and forth as they turned down one passageway and then another. Looking for tributes. Looking for mutts. Looking for _anything_ but the endless, glowing rocks.

They could be looking for a while. There were only seven tributes left, and the arena was large. There was no way of knowing which of the passageways might lead them to a tribute. They could only keep moving, look for signs, and hope.

But there was still a part of her that was hoping they _wouldn't_ find anyone. That the rest of the tributes would simply kill each other off. It had been working so far, after all. She hadn't had to kill yet. Hadn't faced a real fight. Maybe the other tributes would kill each other, and then…

And then what? As long as Cedra was with her, anyone who found one of them would find them both. Eventually, even if all of the other tributes died first, Cedra would have to die if she wanted to go home. If it came down to a fight between the two of them, was that really a fight she could expect to win?

Was that really a fight she would _want_ to win?

Freya gripped the hilt of her sword even tighter. Of course it was a fight she would want to win. She wanted to go home. That meant winning. And winning – eventually, as much as she might try to avoid it – meant killing. Maybe even killing Cedra.

She just hoped she wouldn't have to.

Maybe … maybe they could split up again, before the end. Part ways peacefully. Tributes occasionally did, not wanting to end up facing each other, hoping someone else would find their ally first. Maybe, eventually, she could suggest that.

But not yet. There were still seven of them left. They could stay together a little longer, at least. But if there were a few more cannons…

Not yet. She would deal with that when it happened. If they hadn't found someone else first. If Cedra wasn't already dead. If _she_ wasn't already dead. Then she could decide what to do if it came down to her and Cedra.

She just hoped it wouldn't.

* * *

 **Aras Everett, 63  
** **District Nine**

He just hoped it wouldn't come down to the two of them.

Aras shook his head as he and Galen finished off their package of crackers. Two more cannons had sounded, waking the pair a while ago. They'd decided to have breakfast before continuing onward. Both trying to put off whatever what was about to happen. Both trying to delay the inevitable.

Aras turned his blade over in his hands. The inevitable. The three of them had done their best to make light of what was happening. To laugh and joke about the Games. But the truth was, they were drawing to a close. There were only seven tributes left. And both of them were still alive.

Aras washed down the last of his crackers. From the start, he'd been trying to ignore the thought that it might come down to them. And that still seemed unlikely. There were five other tributes, after all. Five tributes who were probably younger and stronger than either of them. What were the chances that it would really come down to the pair of them?

But those chances were growing with every cannon. Every _boom_ , every death, narrowed the field. How much longer could the two of them ignore the possibility?

"What do you think of going back to the cornucopia?"

Galen's suggestion caught Aras off-guard. It had always been a possibility, of course – especially now that they'd eaten their supply of food – but he hadn't really expected Galen to suggest it so soon. He'd expected his friend to delay. To procrastinate. To offer other suggestions.

But something in his tone made Aras think twice. "Do you think that's a good idea? There's no telling who might be there."

Galen shrugged, his expression still casual. But his voice was oddly strained. "If there's someone there, we can always turn around. And if there isn't, maybe we can get a good meal in before…"

 _Before the end._ The words lingered there, in the air, unspoken. But Aras couldn't help but hear them. What was he hoping for? Was he really hoping for one last good meal before the end of the Games? Or was he hoping for a good fight? Hoping to go out with a bang?

Maybe even hoping to go out _together_?

Aras nodded. Maybe that made sense. If they charged into a fight, then, chances were, they wouldn't have to face each other. One of them would probably be dead. Both of them might be dead. But maybe that was better than sitting around and waiting for the fight to come to them. If they went back to the cornucopia, at least it would be their choice.

Maybe the spiders would give them some sort of advantage. Maybe not. They hadn't really helped in the fight against Camryn and Euclid. Not that the three of them had really needed the spiders' help to take on the pair of them. But whoever was at the cornucopia…

Who _would_ be at the cornucopia? Maybe the Careers – whoever was left. Aelin, maybe? Clark? If they were still alive. There had been so many cannons, he didn't really have any idea who might still be left.

Maybe they would find out soon.

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

Maybe it was better not to know.

Galen tucked Euclid's knife in his pocket, along with the wrapper from the package of crackers. It was a little thing, maybe, but any little trace they left could mean someone would be able to track them. Someone would know they had been there.

As if the avalanche of rocks and the bodies didn't make it obvious enough.

Chances were, no one would come this way, anyway. If there had been anyone else in the area, the sound of the rocks falling would almost certainly have scared them away. It certainly would have scared _him_.

He hadn't quite expected that – being this afraid. Fear was a part of the Games, of course. An important part. A part that often kept tributes alive long after their plans and tricks had failed them. Fear of death – that was a crucial part of what was happening. It always had been.

But that wasn't what he was afraid of.

There was no point, after all, in being afraid of death. Not really. Not at his age. That wasn't what he was afraid of. But the avalanche that had led to Jani's death had served as a reminder of an even greater fear. He had lost Jani. He could have lost Aras. He would have been alone in the arena.

He didn't want that.

Was that why he had suggested heading back to the cornucopia? So that, if he died, at least he wouldn't die alone? At least Aras wouldn't suggest splitting up so they wouldn't end up being forced to kill each other? Maybe.

And Aras had agreed. What did that mean? Maybe he was just as eager for this to be over – one way or the other. Whatever happened now, there were only seven tributes left. The Games might not even last another full day. Whatever was about to happen, it would happen soon.

But at least they would be together.

"Thank you," Galen said at last, quietly.

Aras raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For teaming up with an old coot like me."

Aras laughed a little. "Well, it was a tough choice, you know. It was either you or a bunch of little ankle-biters."

Galen chuckled. "Well, I'm glad you picked me."

"You're better company."

"So are you."

Aras clapped Galen on the back. "Are you ready for this?"

"No."

"Me, neither," Aras admitted, his gaze straying to the tunnel up ahead. "Let's go."

Galen swallowed hard. How far away was the cornucopia? It couldn't be far. It wouldn't be long now. "Wait," he interrupted. "If this doesn't go our way…"

Aras held out a hand. "Then I'll see you on the other side."

Galen nodded, gripped Aras' hand, then pulled him into a hug. For a moment, they simply stood there, neither one wanting to let go. Finally, Aras patted Galen on the back. Galen let go, smiling a little.

"I'll see you on the other side."

* * *

 **Amari Maclure, 77  
** **District Four Mentor**

At least they still had each other.

Amari drummed her fingers on the table as she and Elias watched the screen. Cedra and Freya were wandering about the tunnels, not likely to run into anyone for a while. And maybe that was comforting. At least Cedra and Galen wouldn't be facing each other. With any luck, Cedra and Freya wouldn't be facing _anyone_ for quite a while. But Galen and Aras were headed straight for the cornucopia. Aelin and Clark had almost made their way back there, as well.

And the spiders weren't following.

Maybe she should have expected that. The Gamemakers sometimes used mutts to herd tributes together – or to steer a hunting party in the right direction – but, when it came down to it, tributes were expected to fight their own battles. The spiders hadn't really been much help against Euclid and Camryn, either. Not that they'd needed the help. But now…

Two against two. It was about as fair a fight as they could ask for. But a fair fight wasn't always what tributes were hoping for. Amari shook her head. If they didn't think they could handle the fight, they wouldn't have decided to go back to the cornucopia.

Would they?

They had no way of knowing who was there, of course. No way of knowing whether _anyone_ was there. If they saw Clark and Aelin, maybe they would simply turn around and leave. The spiders hadn't followed, so there was nothing forcing them to stay and fight.

Nothing except their pride.

Amari shook her head. That would be enough. For all Galen's talk about heading back to the cornucopia to get one last good meal in before whatever was about to happen, they all knew better. Chances were, even the audience knew better. Whatever was going to happen, he wanted to get it over with – sooner rather than later. Better to get it over with now, when he still had an ally – a friend – at his side.

Amari took another drink. Maybe she would be doing the same thing. She was one of the oldest Victors. Galen wasn't much younger. What did he have to lose? Maybe the thought of dying didn't scare him as much as the thought of being alone in the arena. Maybe he just wanted to make sure that he wouldn't die alone.

She understood that. But she wished she didn't. Because she didn't want him to die. She didn't want _any_ of them to die. Galen. Aras, who had been such a good friend. Cedra, who had so much of her life ahead of her. Even the others – she didn't really want any of them to die. She didn't want any of this. None of them did.

But they didn't have a choice.

* * *

" _Because if you're very wise, and very strong, fear doesn't have to make you cruel or cowardly… Fear can make you kind."_


	36. Alone

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** Results of the Victor poll are up on the blog. Congratulations to Cadaya, who won the poll ... and even got a vote after she died. o.O

New poll on my profile, this time asking who you _want_ to see as the Victor. As usual, **read the chapter first,** because anyone who dies here won't be included in the poll.

After this chapter, there will probably be two more chapters of the Games, then one or two post-Games chapters.

* * *

 **Day Three  
Alone**

* * *

 **Genesis Harding, 65  
** **District One Mentor**

At least she still had Clark with her.

Genesis drummed her fingers on the table, glancing back and forth around the room as Galen and Aras made their way towards the cornucopia. Aelin and Clark had just arrived, relieved to find that there was no one already there waiting for them. But they were still on their guard. Still looking around for any sign of an ambush.

Maybe that was a good thing. If Aras and Galen arrived soon, Aelin and Clark would still be ready. They wouldn't have time to get comfortable before an attack. On the one hand, they would be prepared. But on the other hand…

On the other hand, they wouldn't be well rested. The pair of them had just spent at least an hour or two walking back to the cornucopia from the fork in the path. And neither of them had gotten much sleep the night before. They were tired. And tired tributes – even tired Careers – made mistakes.

That was the one thing Galen and Aras had going for them. They had both managed to sleep the night before. They'd been together, able to trade watches, while Aelin and Clark had spent the night apart, worried that if they went to sleep, another tribute might find them. They were both exhausted.

But that wasn't likely to change any time soon. Even if Aras and Galen hadn't been heading straight for the cornucopia, they wouldn't be able to rest now. Not now that the Gamemakers had turned the lights back on. It was clear – especially since the last two cannons – that the Gamemakers meant for this to end soon. Once one of them won, then they could rest. Everyone else…

Everyone else would rest forever.

Genesis glanced around at her fellow mentors. Amari and Elias sat together, along with Barric and Charlie, hoping that Galen and Aras would still have the element of surprise on their side. Jay was beside her, along with Benton and Winnow, hoping that Clark and Aelin's fatigue wouldn't get the better of them. That they would be able to push through it.

The rest of the mentors … well, some were simply glad that their tributes weren't anywhere near the fight that was about to happen. Cedra and Freya were safely wandering the tunnels, and Valion was making his way away from the quicksand, far enough away from them. He would be safe for a while.

But only for a while. Whatever happened at the cornucopia, it wouldn't be long before the Gamemakers decided to herd the remaining tributes together. There were only seven tribute left. Soon, there would be fewer than that – no matter which way things went at the cornucopia. And soon after that, the Games would be over. Only one of them would be alive.

Genesis turned her attention back to the screen. She hoped it would be Aelin. She really did. But even if Aelin came back … then what? She had spent most of her time recently pining for the good old days when she had been a healthy, vigorous young Victor. If she won again – if, somehow, she was the one to come home – would things really be any different? Or would she be just as lost as she had been, just as directionless once the thrill of the Games was gone again?

Genesis shook the thought from her head. _First things first._ If she won, _then_ she could worry about what to do next. Until then, there was nothing for her to do. Nothing but wait and hope that her old friend still had what it took to win.

At least she wouldn't have to wait long.

* * *

 **Aelin Kuang, 60  
** **District One**

She hoped they wouldn't have to wait long.

Aelin gripped her spear tightly as she and Clark circled the cornucopia, looking for any sign of an attack. But the only thing they had found were bodies. The ones they had left there: Hadrian's, Ira's, Evo's, and Irina's. But also two more: Hatchet's, which she had been expecting. And Demetrius', which she hadn't.

She'd known he was dead, of course. His face had appeared on the wall the same day as Hatchet's. But she had never guessed that the older woman had killed him. But, as far as she could tell, that was what had happened. And then Hatchet had been killed by … whom? Demetrius had allied with Irina and Gareth. Irina was dead, but Gareth … was he still alive? Had he killed Hatchet? Maybe.

Was he still there?

No. Probably not. Even if he'd killed Hatchet, there was no reason for him to stay at the cornucopia – not for this long. A little while, maybe – to see if anyone was going to return – but it had been too long since then. He wouldn't still be there.

In fact, it didn't look like _anyone_ was still there. Aelin glanced over at Clark, who shook his head. Nothing. No one. They were safe.

For now.

But they wouldn't be safe forever. They'd returned to the cornucopia because she'd thought that there would be someone there. Someone to fight. Someone to kill. Since there was no one, it wouldn't be long before the Gamemakers would expect them to go hunting again – or before they would drive someone else in their direction.

But which one? Should they leave now, or simply wait for someone else to come along? Clark seemed to have made his decision. He was reaching for one of the packs of food inside the cornucopia. And maybe he had the right idea. Maybe they should eat now, while they could. While they had time.

But _did_ they have time? Aelin paced around the cornucopia one more time. She couldn't shake the feeling that they should be on their guard. There were so many entrances to the cavern. Maybe they should find somewhere safer to eat. Maybe…

No. No, there was no point in looking for somewhere safer. All they could do now was try to keep an eye on as many of the entrances as they could. So she chose some food from one of the packs and then took a seat on the side of the cornucopia opposite Clark. Between the two of them, they would be able to see anyone who was coming.

Anyone who was coming. But who would be stupid enough to come back to the cornucopia now? Maybe someone who still needed food. Someone who was desperate. But anyone who hadn't had any food for the last few days, they would be able to defeat easily. Especially if they could lure them into attacking one of them.

Which was the other reason why she had chosen a seat on the opposite side of the cornucopia. If someone saw her first – and if she appeared to be distracted by her meal – then there was a chance they would attack, ignoring Clark. And then Clark would be able to finish them off. Or, vice-versa, if someone happened to see _him_ , they might decide it was worth the risk and try to attack – or try to sneak in and grab something.

Aelin took a bite of the beef stick she had chosen. Maybe someone would attack. Maybe they wouldn't. There was nothing they could do about it now. Nothing but wait, and hope that they would be ready.

She hated waiting.

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

He hated waiting.

Galen turned his blade over in his hands as he waited, just out of sight. Aras had gone ahead to peek into the cavern where the cornucopia sat, hopefully unguarded. "It's just Clark, as far as I can tell," he whispered when he returned. "But I didn't have time to look around. And there could be someone on the other side of the cornucopia."

Galen nodded. Aras was right. There could be someone else. Or there might just be Clark. And the two of them … they could handle Clark. Couldn't they? Maybe the boy would even run if he saw there were two of them.

No. No, he wasn't stupid enough to actually believe that. But he could still hope for it. Hope that it wouldn't come down to a fight. Clark had never done anything to him – or to any of them. As far as Galen had been able to tell, he was a good young man – the sort of Victor who had done his best to get on with his life, who had been able to move past what had happened during his Games. He respected that.

But now he might have to cut that life short. Galen clutched his blade tightly. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. But there was no point in stalling any longer. Waiting wouldn't make what had to happen any easier. If anything, it would make it worse. "So what do you think?" he asked Aras.

But he already knew what the answer was. What the answer _had_ to be. Aras waited for a moment – maybe trying to give the audience the impression that he was thinking it over – but then nodded.

"Let's go."

* * *

 **Clark Tierney, 23  
** **District Seven**

He heard them before he could see them.

Clark slowly got to his feet, his axe ready. Keeping his eyes on the tunnel in front of him. Hoping Aelin would stay out of sight. Whoever was in the tunnels, if he could lure them into a fight, then maybe Aelin could take them by surprise. Maybe. If they'd managed to survive this long, they would probably be expecting a trap. But it was still better for Aelin to stay hidden until she needed to join the fight. Even if their opponents were expecting it, it would still give them an advantage – no matter how small. And they needed every advantage they could get.

Their opponents. Clark couldn't help a look of surprise when he finally saw who it was. Aras stepped into the cavern first, followed by Galen. So they were still alive. Both of them. And Jani – was he waiting somewhere behind them in the tunnel, like Aelin was? Waiting for the right moment to join the fight? Or was he already dead?

Clark took a step closer to the two older men, gripping his axe tightly. Trying to appear confident. Even once Aelin decided to step in, would they be able to handle both of them? Sure, Aelin was a Career, but she was almost as old as they were.

Clark took one more step forward, then stood his ground. _Let them come to you. Let them start the fight._ The idea of _starting_ a fight with the two of them … it was different than attacking Ebony. She'd had a chance. Hadn't she?

But was there really a difference? Sure, she had been younger. Closer to his age. But she had also been unarmed. Aras and Galen had weapons. At least it would be a fight. But was that good or bad?

 _Stop it._ Clark clenched his teeth. Later. Later, if he survived this, he could worry about which was worse – attacking an unarmed teenager or attacking two men almost old enough to be his grandparents. They wouldn't hesitate to attack him…

And yet they were. They _were_ hesitating. But was it because they suspected it might be a trap? Because they had figured out that Aelin was waiting for them? Or was it because they didn't want to kill someone young enough to be their grandson? Or were they just waiting for him to let his guard down?

Galen took a step closer, while Aras circled around to the right. They were trying to surround him. That made sense. Especially if they didn't know that Aelin was there. If they could attack from both sides, they would have a better chance. But there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing but wait and hope that Aelin knew what she was doing.

If she didn't, it could be a very short fight.

* * *

 **Aras Everett, 63  
** **District Nine**

Maybe this would actually be a short fight.

Aras gripped his blade firmly as he circled around to Clark's right. Galen took a few steps in the other direction. Surrounding him. But also watching each other's backs. If someone snuck up behind him, Galen would know – just like he would know if someone tried to sneak up on Galen.

That was the idea, at least. They hadn't really thought much farther than getting to the cornucopia. Because they hadn't really known who to expect. And they still didn't – not really. Clark was in front of them, but was there anyone else? Was Aelin still there, perhaps – maybe hiding behind the cornucopia? If Clark was really alone, wouldn't he have run?

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he figured he could handle two old men. Maybe he was right. Clark took a step back, waiting for one of them to strike. Waiting for them to start the fight. But Galen was still circling to the right. Towards the mouth of the cornucopia. Aras raised an eyebrow. He already had a weapon. So what was he looking for? Was he just trying to figure out whether anyone else was there?

Then he saw it. But so did Clark. A bow and arrow, sitting in the pile of supplies. Something he could safely use from a distance. Clark lunged, but Galen was already closer. Close enough to grab it and back away a little.

Immediately, Clark swung his axe – but not at Galen. He lunged towards Aras, catching him off-guard; Aras barely managed to step out of the way in time. Aras grunted a little, acknowledging Clark's quick thinking. "Figure he won't shoot if you're fighting me, huh?"

Would he? Aras took another swing, trying to circle around to the other side, trying to give his friend a clear shot. He trusted Galen's aim. He just hoped Galen knew that. Clark shook his head, catching Aras' next blow on the handle of his axe.

"No. I figure he won't shoot if he's busy fighting _her_."

* * *

 **Aelin Kuang, 60  
** **District One**

He barely saw her in time.

Aelin cursed under her breath as Galen turned in time to see her. Maybe he'd caught some hint of motion out of the corner of his eye. Maybe he'd just gotten lucky. Either way, his arrow came flying – hastily aimed but still close enough to his target. Aelin couldn't help a scream as the arrow grazed her side.

No. No, it was more than a graze. But she had to treat it like one. Because if she hesitated now, he might have time to fire another arrow. Even as she lunged, he was setting another arrow to the string. But she was a little quicker. The tip of her spear split the string of the bow, and that was that.

"Damn it," Galen muttered, and she could see why. In his haste to grab the bow, he'd dropped his own blade. When she swung again, he managed to catch her spear with the bow, but he wouldn't be able to do much more than block her blows. He wouldn't be able to attack.

That was just as well, of course, because her side was still bleeding. But she couldn't afford to stop. Later. After she and Clark took care of these two, _then_ she could rest. Then she could worry about her own injury. Until then…

Aelin swung again, driving Galen backwards. Back towards Clark and Aras. Maybe Clark could manage to get a strike in, even if she couldn't. Then again, bringing the two fights closer together also came with its own dangers. If Aras attacked her…

But that didn't seem likely. Clark was keeping him occupied. The two were trading blows, but neither had managed to seriously injure the other. But they were both tiring. Both sweating and breathing hard.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

 **Clark Tierney, 23  
** **District Seven**

It was only a matter of time.

Clark swung his axe again, and Aras backed up a little. Then a little more. Closer and closer to where Aelin and Galen were trading blows nearby. Aelin was bleeding. From this distance, he couldn't tell how badly, but it was definitely slowing her down. He wasn't doing much better. So far, he'd managed to keep Aras backing up, but his limbs were starting to ache from the effort of swinging his axe again and again. He hadn't had time to fully recover from his last fight.

And Aras was stronger than he looked. He was tiring, but didn't seem to be slowing down any more than Clark was. There was sweat on his forehead, but he was still smiling a little. "Not bad, kid," he remarked between blows. "But you really should work on your footwork."

Clark said nothing. He couldn't afford to get distracted. That was what Aras wanted. If he couldn't gain a physical advantage, maybe he could gain a mental one. Clark took a step back as Aras swung again – this time a little harder. Driving Clark back. Away from the other fight.

Clark took one step backwards. Then another. His foot brushed something near the mouth of the cornucopia, and he narrowly avoided tripping over one of the bags. "Told you," Aras chuckled, and Clark swung harder. _Don't let him get to you._ He took another step, then kicked the bag in Aras' direction. Fortunately, whatever was inside was soft, easy to kick with his bare feet. Aras, startled, didn't have time to dodge as the bag hit him in the shin.

Aras stumbled backwards, more startled than hurt, but it would do. Clark lunged forward, aiming his axe at the older man's legs. Aras managed to dodge, but, even as he did, Clark grabbed hold of his ankle and yanked as hard as he could. Aras toppled to the ground, his blade swinging wildly as Clark plunged his axe into Aras' side. Aras cried out in pain, but managed to grab hold of Clark's wrist as he tried to pull away, pulling the younger Victor closer and slicing quickly with his own blade.

Clark gasped as the blade sliced across his chest. Blood gushed out, covering both of them. Aras released Clark's wrist, and Clark staggered backwards, trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood.

But it did no good. He only made it a few feet before collapsing. He glanced over at Aelin, but she was far too busy with Galen to come to his aid. What good would it do, anyway? Aras didn't even need to do anything. He could simply let him bleed to death.

But Aras wasn't faring much better. Blood was seeping from the wound in his side. Even if he survived the next few minutes, there was no way he would make it to the end of the Games with a wound like that. It was only a matter of time before he would join Clark.

Clark closed his eyes as everything began to grow dark. Maybe that should have made it a little better – the knowledge that at least he had taken Aras with him. But it didn't. Nothing could make this any better. He'd made it so far. He'd come so close. But now it was over.

There was nothing that could make that any better.

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

There was nothing that could make this any better.

Galen clutched his bow tightly, fighting hard to keep from screaming as both Aras and Clark tumbled to the ground. He and Aelin had been trading blows, trading positions, and he happened to be in a position to see what was happening. But there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do for his friend as Clark's axe met its mark. Aras' blade sliced across Clark's chest, and the boy staggered backwards. But the damage was done. One cannon sounded. The other wouldn't be far behind.

 _So use it_.

"Aras!" Galen called. "No!" But Aras didn't respond. Galen gasped for breath as Aelin took another swing. _Don't say anything. Please don't say anything. Just wait. Wait for the right moment._

Aelin shifted positions again, trying to get a better look. Galen let her. Let her drive him back farther. Farther. Back towards where both Clark and Aras lay, surrounded by blood.

"So you want to die next to your friend?" Aelin asked as Galen took another step closer to Aras. Then another.

Galen clutched his bow even tighter. That would be easier. To just lie down alongside his friend, to face their death together. All he had to do was trip. He could make it look like an accident. No one would ever know that he had meant to do it. No one would ever guess that he just didn't want to be alone.

Galen blinked the tears away from his eyes. _No._ Aras wouldn't want him to die, too. Galen took one more step backwards, drawing Aelin closer. Closer. He shook his head.

"That's not what I had in mind."

* * *

 **Aras Everett, 63  
** **District Nine**

"That's not what I had in mind."

Aras' eyes snapped open, and he immediately swung his blade as hard as he could. Slicing across the back of Aelin's legs. Maybe she had assumed he was dead. Maybe she had simply thought he was too injured to be a threat. Galen stepped out of the way as Aelin toppled forward, snatching the spear from her hands and immediately plunging it into her chest. Within seconds, the cannon sounded.

Aras gasped, struggling to sit up as Galen knelt by his side. "Not bad."

"Not bad yourself." Galen couldn't hide the tears in his eyes. "Let's get that axe out."

Aras shook his head, clutching Galen's hand tightly. "No. No, don't. Won't do … any good." It wouldn't. If anything, it would only cause him to bleed more. And that much blood … he didn't want that to be the last thing his grandchildren would remember about him. He wanted…

What _did_ he want? Aras gripped his friend's hand tightly. It was getting colder. So cold. "Don't cry," he said softly, even though he knew Galen wouldn't listen. He wasn't just talking to Galen. Everyone was watching. His wife. His daughter and son. Their children. "Don't cry," he repeated. "It's okay. It's … it's been good."

At least he wasn't alone.

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 21  
** **District Four**

 _Boom._

Cedra nearly jumped as the cannon sounded, echoing through the tunnel with a sudden finality. Six tributes left. Cedra glanced over at Freya, who seemed completely unaffected. Maybe she had the right idea. Maybe it wasn't that big a deal. Seven tributes or six – what difference did that really make?

If anything, it was a good difference. Each cannon was another tribute they didn't have to worry about. Each cannon brought them just a little closer to the end of the Games. But each cannon _also_ brought them a little bit closer to the inevitable. To the point where they would either have to separate … or fight each other.

Cedra took a deep breath, trying to clear her head. They could still wait a little while. They could afford to. Six tributes – even that meant there might still be some groups left, or at least a pair or two. It was still better to stay together, at least until—

 _Boom_.

This time, Cedra _did_ jump, and quickly whirled around, looking for something. Anything that might give her a clue about who had just been killed, and where. The cannons had sounded close, hadn't they? But that … that could just be an illusion, created by the way the cannons echoed through the cave. Had this even _been_ a second cannon, or just an echo of the first?

No. No, it was a second cannon. It had been louder than the echoes. Which meant two more tributes were dead. That left five. Five tributes. Three tributes, besides the two of them. Cedra turned her rapier over in her hands. How much longer could she wait? Was it time to suggest that they split up?

Cedra met Freya's gaze. Freya said nothing, but she, too, was fingering her weapon. "Maybe…" she started, but then trailed off. Had she been about to suggest the same thing? That maybe it was better for them to split up now, rather than being forced to face each other later?

"Maybe what?" Cedra prompted, but Freya shook her head, letting the subject drop. Maybe she didn't want to be the one to suggest it. Maybe she didn't want to look like she was reluctant to fight her own ally, if it came down to that. Or maybe she simply didn't want to be alone in the arena.

Cedra gripped her rapier. There was another possibility, of course. Maybe Freya was trying to keep her nearby, so that it would be easier to turn on her when the time came. Maybe Freya was figuring out how many more tributes needed to die before it was time to stab her in the back. Maybe—

 _Boom_.

Cedra took off running as the third cannon echoed through the tunnels. There was no point in waiting. Not any more. Tributes were dying left and right. She wasn't about to let Freya take her out now. No. No, she had to get away. She was better off alone.

The tunnel forked, and Cedra veered sharply to the right. Freya didn't seem to be following her, but she couldn't slow down. There was no telling how many more cannons might follow. There was no telling what might happen if she stopped.

She had to keep moving.

* * *

 **Freya Basnett, 44  
** **District Two**

She would just have to keep going without Cedra.

Freya shook her head as she made her way forward through the tunnels – but in the opposite direction from the way Cedra had run. If she tried to go after her now, there was no telling how things might end. Cedra was already panicking. Paranoid. Trying to reason with her was probably pointless.

And doubly pointless because there were only four of them left. Only four tributes left in the arena. Maybe the thought should have been comforting, but, instead, it filled her with dread. What if it came down to her and Cedra? What if it didn't matter that Cedra had run? What if the Gamemakers forced them back together, anyway?

She had been just about to suggest splitting up, after all, when the third cannon had sounded and Cedra's instincts had made the decision for her. Maybe this was a good thing. It was about as peaceful a parting as she could have asked for. She would have preferred to stay together a _little_ longer – maybe until one more cannon sounded – but maybe this was better. There were still two other tributes out there. Still two others who might find Cedra first.

Or who might find her first. That was the other option. And if they did…

Freya gripped her sword tightly. If they did, she would fight. There was no question now. She had managed to make it this far without any blood on her hands, but she wouldn't make it out of the Games if she refused to fight. Whoever else had made it this far, chances were they had already killed. And they certainly wouldn't hesitate to kill her – a Career. They would assume that she would fight back.

So she would have to. That was why she and Cedra had left their hiding place, after all. They had been looking for a fight. Hunting – the way Careers were supposed to. But they had found nothing. No one. There had been no one to fight.

Where _were_ the other tributes?

Not back at the cornucopia, surely. If there had been someone there when they left, she and Cedra would certainly have heard them. And the Gamemakers wouldn't have let them leave if there was a fight to be had right there. No, they would have sent some sort of mutts to stop them.

But if not back at the cornucopia … then where? There had been three cannons, which meant that either there had been a large fight, or several smaller ones coincidentally taking place at the same time. And she wasn't a big believer in coincidence – particularly since there had only been seven tributes remaining before the most recent set of cannons.

And now there were four. Only four tributes left. Freya took a deep breath as she made her way forward in the glowing red light of the tunnel. She could do this. She just had to wait for the fight to come to her. She would have to be ready, but, until she found someone, she would just have to be patient.

She would just have to wait.

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

He would just have to be patient.

Valion clutched Shyanne's rod tightly as he made his way forward in the glowing yellow light. Backwards, actually. Back the way he and Shyanne had come when they had been looking for Silvesta's killer. The quicksand had been essentially impassable, and he certainly wasn't going to try his luck trying to find some way across. So backwards had been the only option.

But, so far, the Gamemakers didn't seem to care. Maybe with Shyanne gone, no one really cared about what happened to him. She was the one the Capitol had wanted dead. Maybe they were content to leave him alone for a while.

But it wouldn't be much longer. _Couldn't_ be much longer now before someone would have to do something about him. There were only four tributes left. He'd made it this far without killing, and with only a fight against Cadaya to his name. A fight he would have lost, and quite soundly, too, if it hadn't been for Shyanne.

He would have to be more careful, now that she wasn't around to help him. He'd been patient so far. But that wouldn't keep him alive forever. Eventually, he would have to fight.

Valion turned the rod over in his hands. He just wished he knew who else was left. But the three cannons that had sounded recently had left him with no doubt. The Games wouldn't last long enough for him to see another set of faces on the wall. He – and the other three tributes who were left – would have no idea who they were facing until it actually came to a fight.

Valion shook his head. Maybe it didn't matter. Everyone he would have been particularly reluctant to face in a fight was already dead. Shyanne. Silvesta. They were both gone. Maybe it didn't matter who was left. Who he would have to fight. Who he would have to _kill_ , if he wanted to go home.

He would just have to wait and see.

* * *

 **Sherman Bester, 89  
** **District Two Mentor**

They would just have to wait and see.

Sherman leaned back in his chair, silently watching the screen. Four tributes left. Galen still sat motionless beside Aras' body at the cornucopia. Cedra was headed deeper and deeper into the red section of the arena, a considerable distance away from anyone else, but nearly at a dead end. Freya had kept to a much straighter path, and had nearly reached the fork in the path where Aelin, Clark, and Maximus had split up only a day before. And Valion was backtracking, showing no signs of deviating from his path.

None of them were close to any of the others.

Maybe that was good. It would give them a little time to rest before the end. Before the Gamemakers started forcing them together. It would give them a little time to recover.

But only a little. With only four tributes remaining, the Gamemakers wouldn't want to wait long. They would want to keep things moving. It was only the third day, but with things moving this quickly … well, maybe it was better to get it over with.

His own Games had only lasted three days, after all – and that had been more than enough. Three days, three kills, and he had been able to leave the arena.

Three kills – that was more than any of the remaining four tributes had this time. And only one fewer than all of them put together. Cedra and Galen had two kills each; Valion and Freya had none. That much, at least, was a bit of a surprise. He – and many others – had assumed that, in a showdown between the best of the best, it was the bloodiest tribute who would leave the arena alive.

But none of the remaining tributes had made a significant number of kills. In fact, no one had. Aras had made three, but only if they counted both Jani, who had been dying anyway, and Aelin, who had ultimately been killed by Galen – though unarguably with Aras' help. It had definitely been an odd year.

And it wasn't over yet.

Sherman took another drink. The Gamemakers were dealing with it as well as could be expected, playing up the escalating action in the hopes that the audience would ignore the fact that these weren't the four they were expecting to be fighting it out at the end. Two of them were Careers … but not the Careers anyone had been expecting. Cedra and Freya, both of whom had refused to join a Career pack at the start and had only reluctantly teamed up with Demetrius and Gareth. And Galen and Valion, two grandfathers who had managed to outlive their younger, stronger allies.

It wasn't what anyone had expected. But these were the four who were still alive. _Freya_ was still alive. He had to admit, he hadn't been expecting that. He had offered to mentor her because he had assumed that Demetrius had a better chance, and had wanted Avery to have an easier time mentoring. But Demetrius was dead, and Freya – despite having no kills to her name – was in the final four.

Sometimes the Games just didn't make sense.

* * *

" _If you live long enough … the only certainty left is that you'll end up alone."_


	37. Win

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Yeah, I know I said two more chapters of the Games. But once I started writing this, there was no good place to split it up into two chapters, so ... here's the finale.

My apologies to anyone who might have been waiting one more chapter to vote in the poll - which is currently in a four-way tie at two votes apiece. (Which I'm rather proud of, to be honest. Usually, there's a favorite or two - or, at least, someone who's decidedly _not_ a favorite.) If you like, you can pop over to my profile, vote, and then read the chapter. Or, I suppose, you could read the chapter and then tell me who you _would_ have wanted as a Victor. Or ... whatever. I can't exactly stop you one way or the other.

Enjoy the finale.

* * *

 **Finale  
** **Win**

* * *

 **Benton Murphy, 51  
** **District Seven Mentor**

Only four tributes left.

Benton hopped down from his chair, his legs a little wobbly after his last few drinks. But he'd needed them. Clark had been so close. So close to coming back home. They'd all known from the start that Hatchet almost certainly wasn't coming back, but he'd really thought Clark had a chance. Now…

Now it was just him and Winnow. They would be coming back to the Capitol the next year. And the next. And the next, until they managed to bring home yet _another_ Victor.

But he knew better than to complain about it. Most of the remaining Victors were in the same position – or worse. Only the Career districts had more than a handful of Victors, and even their numbers were dwindling now. Except for District Four. Both Cedra and Galen were still alive. It didn't seem fair.

Fair. Benton chuckled to himself as he reached up, snatching his drink from the table and downing what was left in one gulp. The Games were never fair. This year was no different. No different at all.

That's what they were all telling themselves, after all. It was what kept them from rebelling, as Rufus had wished. The idea that this wasn't _really_ any worse than normal. And, objectively, it wasn't. Twenty-three dead tributes. Twenty so far. Three more to go. Just like any other year.

Benton swayed a little, stumbling towards the couches. One more step. Then another. Finally, he plopped down next to Barric, who nodded silently. Politely. As if their district's tributes hadn't just killed each other. "Sorry," Barric mumbled, his voice thick from drinking.

Benton nodded back. "Me, too." And he was. Not that Clark had gone after Aras – not really. Aras and Galen were the ones who had attacked the cornucopia. The ones who had forced a fight. But even they hadn't had much of a choice – not really. Not once they'd discovered that there was, in fact, someone at the cornucopia.

No, they couldn't blame the tributes for fighting – not when all of them had done the same thing. Well, _nearly_ all of them. "Think either of them has a chance of tying your record this year?" Benton asked, propping his feet up on the couch beside him.

Barric shook his head. "My record?"

"Sure. Fewest kills in a Hunger Games. That would be a hoot, wouldn't it? The bloody Victor-to-Victor showdown … and a Victor with no kills?"

Barric smiled a little. "That would be something. But it's not going to happen. None of them are really trying to hide."

"Of course not. But they're so spread out, if three of them were driven together or something, they could very well kill each other, leaving the fourth one as the Victor."

"I'm sure they've thought of that."

"Are you?"

"Of course. The Gamemakers wouldn't have let them get so spread out if they didn't have some sort of way to drive them back together, would they?"

"Normally, no. But with the Games moving this fast … what if they're trying to draw things out a little by letting them separate? And what if it doesn't work quite the way they want it to?"

"What are you suggesting?"

Benton shrugged. "Absolutely nothing. There's nothing we can do about it, after all. And no reason we should care, really. Our tributes are all gone. No reason to fret over what's about to happen."

No reason. No reason he should be so anxious. And yet he was. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the fact that he'd come so close to bringing Clark home a second time, and yet failed. Maybe it was the realization that he still wasn't done mentoring – and probably wouldn't be for years. Whatever it was, the tension was beginning to bubble inside him. It was only a matter of time before it surfaced.

Benton leaned back against the pillow, shutting his eyes tightly. The room was finally starting to spin a little less. "Wake me when something happens, would you?"

"What?"

"They'll be wandering around those tunnels for hours," Benton shrugged. "If the Gamemakers were set on driving them together, they wouldn't have let Cedra and Freya split up without a fight – or leave the area around the cornucopia to begin with. Aside from the spiders, they haven't really shown any signs of wanting to herd anyone together, so … wake me when two of them finally find each other and something interesting happens."

Something interesting. The truth was, he didn't want to wait. Couldn't stand simply sitting around, doing nothing, drinking some more and pretending he didn't care what happened now that his tributes were gone. Sleeping seemed like a better way to pass the time.

But it was only a few moments before he felt something. Someone shaking his shoulder. Firmly – almost frantically. Benton opened his eyes to see Barric nodding towards the screen, eyes wide.

"Something's happening."

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

Something was happening.

Valion placed a hand on the wall, glancing around. Something was wrong. He couldn't see anything strange. But he could feel it. The feeling had reached his bare feet first, but now he could feel it in the walls. Some sort of humming vibrations, growing stronger with every second.

Something was very wrong.

Carefully, he took a step backwards. Then another. But it didn't help. The vibrations were everywhere – as if the entire cave was about to collapse. But they wouldn't do that … would they? If the entire arena collapsed, the four of them would die. They wouldn't have a Victor. They had to have their Victor.

Didn't they?

Valion clenched his fists. Even with everything that had already gone wrong this time around, they couldn't be that desperate. Whoever was left, there couldn't possibly be so few good choices for a Victor that the Gamemakers would resort to simply killing _all_ of them. Sure, he didn't have any kills so far, but if the Gamemakers had wanted him dead, they could have killed him along with Shyanne. But they hadn't.

So what was going on?

 _Okay. Think. Just think._ If the vibrations didn't mean the tunnel was about to collapse, then what else could they mean? Maybe something was about to burst through the walls. Some sort of mutt, perhaps? Or maybe only _some_ of the walls were going to collapse. Maybe that was what the Gamemakers would use to drive the tributes together. That made sense.

But it would make _more_ sense if there was some sort of direction. If the humming was coming from some specific place, then he could simply assume the Gamemakers wanted him to go the other way. But the vibrations were _everywhere._ And they were getting stronger.

Stronger. But he hadn't been able to feel _all_ the vibrations at first. Only the ones in the ground. But what did that mean? Did they want him to get away from the _ground?_ That didn't make any sense.

Did it?

No. No, the only way to get away from the ground was to climb. But there was nothing _to_ climb. And nowhere to go. The ceiling of the cave was higher in some places, but, in this particular tunnel, it was only a few feet above his head. If something was about to happen, being a few feet above where he was now certainly wasn't going to do him any good.

 _So find somewhere with a higher ceiling._

Okay. At least that was something. Some sense of direction. But he had no way of knowing whether he was on the right track or not. And he hadn't been paying much attention to the height of the ceilings in the tunnels. It had never seemed particularly important.

Stupid. _Everything_ in the Games was important. He should have known better. Should have been paying attention to _everything_ – even details that seemed trivial. Valion glanced up at the ceiling, studying it for a moment. Trying to remember – but also to let the Gamemakers know that he was on the right track.

 _If_ he was on the right track.

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 21  
** **District Four**

She definitely wasn't on the right track.

Cedra struck the wall with her rapier as she realized she'd hit a dead end. "Damn it," she muttered. She'd been so focused on getting away from Freya that she hadn't really thought twice about which direction she was running. She'd assumed that the Gamemakers would give her some sort of sign if she was going the wrong way.

Apparently, she'd been wrong.

Cursing quietly, Cedra turned around, ready to head back in the other direction. But something stopped her. Something behind her – a sound, coming from the wall she had just struck. Some sort of humming vibration, as if the rocks themselves were starting to shake.

Just then, there was a cracking noise in the wall. Cedra turned to run as rocks began to fall behind her. Faster. Faster. The walls, the floor, the ceiling – they were all beginning to crack.

Cedra gripped her rapier tighter. But that wasn't going to help her now. She couldn't fight the rocks that were falling. _Just keep running._ Surely the Gamemakers didn't want to actually _kill_ them with the rockslide. Surely they were just trying to herd them together for the finale.

But they weren't exactly being careful about it. One rock, and then another, came dangerously close to hitting her. A small one clipped her shoulder. Cedra grunted in pain but kept running. What other option did she have? There was nowhere else to go but forward. Unless…

Suddenly, something came tumbling down from above her head. Cedra looked up, startled, as dozens of smaller rocks began to fall from the ceiling, revealing a hole – and, descending from that hole, a knotted rope. "Well, okay, then," Cedra muttered, tucking her rapier into her belt and grabbing hold of the first knot. Apparently, the Gamemakers didn't want to kill them, after all.

Unless it was a trap. Unless there was someone waiting to kill her once she reached the top. But what other choice was there? She couldn't outrun the rockslide forever. And, as she glanced around the tunnel ahead of her, she could see the rocks starting to fall there, as well. It was either up, or nothing.

And 'nothing' didn't sound like a particularly good option.

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

Doing nothing wouldn't be an option for much longer.

Galen brushed the tears from his eyes as he laid Aras' body gently by the mouth of the cornucopia, along with Aelin, Clark, Hadrian, Hatchet, Demetrius, Ira, Evo, and Irina. Nine of his fellow Victors. Nine of his friends – all gone. And he was still here. He was still alive.

But for how much longer?

Galen clutched his blade tightly – the fang-shaped blade that the sponsors had sent. His bow was useless now that Aelin had cut the string; there didn't seem to be enough to repair it, and there probably wouldn't be enough time. There was a part of him that even _hoped_ there wouldn't be enough time. That, whichever way this was going to end, it would end soon.

Because the silence, the loneliness – it was worse than he'd imagined. Worse than it had been during his own Games, even after his allies were gone. Because he had only known those allies for a few days. Aras, Aelin, Hadrian, Hatchet – he had known them for years. He had laughed with them. Watched the Games with them. Waited anxiously as their tributes fought and killed and died. They had been with him through it all.

And now they were dead.

Galen leaned back against the cornucopia, trying to collect his wits. He hadn't realized how badly he was shaking. Now _everything_ seemed to be shaking. Even the cornucopia. In fact—

Galen leapt to his feet. Everything _was_ shaking. All around the chamber, the weapons and the rocks and even the bodies were trembling. Instinctively, Galen's gaze swept around the room. In every direction, rocks were starting to fall. Every direction except…

Except up. As quickly as he could, Galen scrambled on top of the cornucopia. All around him, rocks were starting to fall. Even the ceiling was beginning to collapse. It was only a matter of time before—

Just then, something caught his eye. Something dangling from the ceiling. A rope. A rope coming down from a hole high above his head. Tucking his blade into his pocket, Galen clutched the rope tightly, giving it a tug. It held. But what – or who – was on the other end?

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

 **Freya Basnett, 44  
** **District Two**

There was only one way to go now.

Freya gasped, dodging falling rocks as she raced forward through the tunnel. Rockslides barred every other path out of the tunnel; she had no choice but to keep pushing forward. But how long would it be before she hit a dead end? Or before the tunnel ahead started caving in on itself, as the tunnel behind her had?

But there was no time to think about that. No choice but to keep moving forward. Run or die – those were the only two choices. And she had come too far to die now. Too far to die like this – without a chance, without a fight. No. No, if she was going to die, she wasn't going to be killed by a pile of _rocks._ She had come too far for that. She was better than that.

She had always been better than that.

Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of something up ahead. A rope, hanging from the ceiling. And, already climbing that rope, a man. A tribute. Valion, she realized as she neared the bottom of the rope. Freya clutched her sword tightly. That rope seemed to be the only way out of the tunnels. Away from the walls that were quickly collapsing around her. But would she be able to catch up to him?

Did she have a choice?

Quickly, Freya let go of her sword. She couldn't climb with it, anyway, and she still had a few knives tucked in her pockets. She gripped the rope tightly and started to climb. Higher. Higher. Knot after knot. But Valion was almost to the top. All he would have to do was cut the rope, and she would fall back into the cavern – a cavern that was quickly filling with debris.

Then he disappeared – vanishing beyond the edge of the hole. Was it possible that he hadn't noticed her? Or maybe he simply didn't have anything to cut the rope with. Could he really have made it this far without a weapon? Freya pulled herself up a little more. Then a little more. Maybe she would get lucky. Maybe…

Finally, the top of the hole was within reach. One of her hands gripped the edge. Then the other. But, as soon as her head cleared the top of the hole, something struck her from behind. Blood splattered, and she nearly lost her grip. Everything was fuzzier. The rod – because now she could see that was, in fact, what it was – came swinging again, this time striking her in the face. But as Valion pulled the rod away, Freya reached out and grabbed it, clutching the rod as hard as she could.

She half-expected to pull Valion down into the cavern with her. And maybe that would have been enough – knowing that she had taken him with her. But he must have been stronger than he looked. Or maybe he simply had better leverage, because he managed to pull both the rod and her out of the hole.

But it didn't do her any good. She barely had time to reach for one of her knives before he swung again. And again. Blood filled her mouth. Her eyes. Pain – so much pain. Worse than she'd imagined.

She could only hope it would be over soon.

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

It was over soon enough.

Valion gasped as the cannon sounded, immediately collapsing back onto the ground, his rod covered in blood. Freya's blood. He hadn't even realized that she was there until he'd felt a tug on the rope below him. And, even then, he'd been too panicked to look down until he'd climbed safely out of the hole.

Now … now it was over. But the rest – the rest of the finale – it was just beginning. Valion sat up a little, taking in his new surroundings. It was a desert, but unlike any desert he'd ever seen. The sand was an odd burnt orange color, already stinging his hands and feet. The terrain seemed barren except for a small shack in the distance, and dozens of holes that pocketed the ground – each with a rope dipping down into them.

Maybe he could wait. Wait and see where the tributes were climbing up. But the holes stretched out as far as he could see. If the other tributes had been on the opposite side of the arena, they could pop up from a hole on the other side of the desert. No. No, the best move was to head for the shack. To hope that there was something there he could use.

And hope that no one had already made it there before him.

Slowly, Valion sifted through Freya's pockets, and managed to find a few knives. Then he got to his feet and headed for the shack, careful not to fall into any of the holes, glancing down a few of them to see if anyone was coming. As far as he could tell, no one was. Maybe none of them had made it to the ropes in time. Maybe it was only a matter of time before they were buried in the rocks. He hadn't heard any cannons – aside from Freya's – but there was still time.

Could he really get that lucky?

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 21  
** **District Four**

Could she really get this lucky?

Cedra peeked out over the edge of the hole, glancing this way and that. There didn't appear to be anyone around. A cannon had sounded a few moments ago, but she hadn't had the time to stop and wonder whose it might be. All her attention had been focused on climbing. Her arms ached. Her eyes ached at the sight of the sunlight after so many days in the dark. The light was dim – early morning, maybe – but it still seemed terribly bright.

And it was only going to get brighter.

Unless, of course, it was a sunset instead of a sunrise. Whichever it was, it was coloring the desert an odd shade of burnt orange. Unless, of course, the sand was naturally that color. Sand. She had never thought she'd be so happy to see sand again. But this wasn't a beach. There was no water in sight.

But she didn't need water. Not now. Not when she was so close to being able to go home. No, water wasn't the thing to worry about now. Her fellow tributes were. Two of them were left – somewhere.

But where?

Cedra looked around. Left. Right. Behind her. But there didn't seem to be anyone. In fact, she couldn't see anything except for a small shack off in the distance. Maybe that was where the others were. Maybe they had made it there before her. Maybe they were already busy fighting. Maybe they would just kill each other off. Maybe she could just wait here while they fought it out…

No. No, that was just wishful thinking. The Gamemakers wouldn't allow it – certainly not this time. There was only one way out of this – and that was to fight.

But to fight _whom_? That was the question she had been ignoring, focusing instead on _where_ her opponents might be. Because unless the last cannon had been hers, Freya was still out there somewhere. Freya was one of the tributes she would have to fight. To kill.

Was she really ready for that?

Suddenly, she heard something. Breathing. And not too far away. But she couldn't quite pick out a direction. Before she could even think of running towards the sound, a head poked out of the ground a few hundred yards away. Then the rest of the body.

Galen.

Freya blinked in the early morning light, more startled than afraid. Galen certainly wasn't the person she'd been expecting. How had he managed to last this long? He saw her, too, and immediately scrambled to his feet. Any element of surprise she might have had was gone now.

But that didn't mean she didn't have an advantage. She knew who the other tribute was – as long as the last cannon hadn't been Freya's, of course. He probably had no idea. She took a step closer. "You, then."

Galen took a step closer, drawing a small, curved blade out of his pocket. "And you. It's good to see you, Cedra."

It almost sounded like he meant it. Maybe he did. Maybe he was glad that she'd made it this far. But that only meant that they might have to kill each other. Galen took another step closer.

"But you know what comes next."

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

"But you know what comes next."

Galen clutched his blade harder as the words left his mouth. Cedra stopped in her tracks, waiting. Maybe not quite believing what he'd just said. That he was ready to kill her.

But what was the alternative? Whoever was left, Cedra could almost certainly take care of on her own. She didn't need him. She had no reason to keep him alive. If he suggested working together – even long enough to take down the last tribute, whoever that might be – she would almost certainly stab him in the back before they could find whoever else remained—

"It's Freya," Cedra blurted out as he took another step.

Galen hesitated. "What?"

"The other tribute – it's Freya. Kill me now, and she's the one you'll have to fight. Do you really think you can take her alone?"

Galen raised an eyebrow. "Do _you_?"

"I don't know," Cedra admitted. "But we have a better chance together."

Galen shook his head, then asked the obvious question. "How do you know it's her?"

"I don't – not for sure. But we were working together, and there's only been one cannon since we split up. So unless the cannon was hers…"

So that was it. The real reason she didn't want to fight him now. Freya was her ally. If she killed him, she would be facing Freya. But if they killed Freya together, or if _he_ killed Freya, then she would only have to kill him.

Only.

Galen nodded a little. "And after we kill Freya…"

"Then you know what happens next."

Good. So she wasn't planning to do anything stupid. She knew that, if it came down to the two of them, they would still have to fight.

Of course she did. She hadn't made it this far by being stupid or rebellious. If she had to kill him, then that was what she would do. Just like he was prepared to kill her.

Wasn't he?

Galen took a step closer, careful not to take his eyes off her weapon – just in case. "Any idea where she might be?"

Cedra nodded towards a small shack in the distance, well beyond the farthest holes. "That's where I'd go. Look for some sort of shelter – maybe a good place to set an ambush. Assuming she's not still in the tunnels, that is."

Galen shook his head. "If she's still in the tunnels, she's dead." He'd barely made it out before the rocks filled the tunnels. If Freya was down there, there would be a cannon soon.

Assuming Cedra was right. Assuming Freya was the one who was still alive. The only other tribute remaining. Galen glanced over at his district partner as the pair of them headed for the shack, careful to stay out of arm's reach. They might be working together now, but their fragile alliance couldn't last forever.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

It was only a matter of time.

Valion turned his rod over in his hands, glancing out the window of the shack one more time. There was nothing there – no supplies, no weapons, nothing he could use. Maybe that shouldn't have been too much of a surprise. The Gamemakers wouldn't want to give too much of an advantage to the first tribute to arrive. If he'd had the time and the supplies to set up a proper trap, there wouldn't even be much of a fight.

And they _wanted_ a fight.

So a fight was what they would get. The shack was made of wood – that was something. If he could find a way to light it, maybe he could burn it. But unless he could lure his opponents inside, what good would that do?

 _Think_.

No weapons. He had no weapons – just the rod in his hands, the knives he'd taken from Freya, and whatever he might manage to pull from the walls of the shack. Maybe he could pry a few of the boards loose. There were nails in them; that was better than nothing.

Then he could see them – coming towards him across the desert. The other two tributes. _Together._ Shit. He'd been worried about facing _one_ of the other two tributes, trying to catch _one_ of them in a trap. But if the two of them were working together…

 _Just think._

As they drew closer, he could finally see who it was. Cedra and Galen. Two Careers. Did they really think it would take two Careers to kill him? Why hadn't they turned on each other yet? Unless…

Unless they didn't know it was him. How could they? And the tribute he had just killed – Freya – was also a Career. If they thought _she_ was left – or even suspected that she might be – then that might be enough to justify staying together a little longer.

But if they knew it was just him…

Valion took a deep breath. It was stupid. But it was the only choice he had left. The two of them were getting closer every second. Soon, they would be able to see that it was him. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe…

"Hello there!" he called.

* * *

 **Cedra Devere, 24  
** **District Four**

"Hello there!"

Cedra gasped as two realizations hit her at the exact same time. First, the voice _definitely_ wasn't Freya's. The other tribute _wasn't_ her ally. Wasn't even a Career. There was no reason to keep working with Galen. Her best chance was to turn on him now.

Second, there was a sharp, shooting pain in her back.

Galen. He'd made the connection a split second before she had. Realized that he didn't need her any more – or, at the very least, that _she_ wouldn't need him. Cedra gasped as Galen took a step back, drawing his blade out of her back. Blood gushed out onto the sand as she collapsed, face-up, on the ground, her rapier still clutched tightly in her hand. But before she could even think about using it, Galen's wrist was around hers. Prying it from her grasp. "I'm sorry."

But he wasn't. Not really. He couldn't be. Because she would have done the same thing. Had been just about to _do_ the same thing. He'd just been a little too quick.

Or she hadn't been quick enough.

Cedra gasped as everything started to grow dark. She had been hoping that this time would be different. That she would be good enough. Strong enough, fast enough, brave enough. But it hadn't been enough. _She_ hadn't been enough.

She had never been enough.

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

 _Boom_.

Galen flinched, grasping his own blade and Cedra's rapier tightly as the cannon sounded. Only one tribute left. Only one tribute stood between him and District Four.

And he knew exactly who it was. He knew the voice. He knew _all_ of their voices. Valion wasn't the tribute he'd expected to find in the shack, but he probably wasn't the opponent Valion had been expecting, either. "Hello there yourself!" he called back, taking a step closer to the shack. Then another.

Valion still wasn't anywhere in sight. But that wasn't a surprise. Of course he wouldn't want to show himself. But if he had some sort of long-range weapon – some sort of bow or throwing spear – he would almost certainly have used it by now.

 _Almost_ certainly. Nothing was certain. Nothing except for the fact that, in a little while, only one of them would be alive. And he would have to be very careful if he wanted it to be him.

"That was pretty clever!" he called out. "Letting us know who you were. Gambling that we'd turn on each other if we knew it was you we were facing."

Valion finally appeared in the door of the shack, a rod in his hand. "To be quite honest, I was hoping she'd get a few licks in first."

Galen couldn't help a smirk. "Sorry to disappoint."

Valion chuckled a little. "Oh, I imagine we're both a bit of a disappointment right now. The Hunger Games to end all Hunger Games. The best of the best. And it comes down to two grandpas facing off in a desert." He shook his head. "Probably not quite the grand finale the audience was expecting."

"Probably not," Galen admitted. "But it seems just fine to me."

Galen took a step closer. Valion was stalling. Hell, they were _both_ stalling. Both trying to catch their breaths after that ridiculous climb. Both trying to work up the courage to start the fight they both knew had to happen.

Galen took a deep breath. "Look, if this doesn't go my way … tell my family I love them."

"I will," Valion promised. "As long as you'll do the same."

Galen nodded. "It's a deal."

Valion managed a smile. "Then let's get this over with."

They both charged.

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

He only had one advantage.

Valion pressed the button on the end of his rod as he charged, shining the light directly in Galen's eyes. Galen slowed down a little, startled, but it wasn't enough. Valion swung the rod as Galen swung his rapier, each managing to dodge the other's blow.

But even as each prepared to swing again, the wind picked up, swirling the top layer of the strange, burnt orange sand. Startled, both of them backed up a little. But it was Galen who recovered first, swinging his rapier, barely missing Valion amid the storm of dust.

Valion took a step backwards as the dust swirled faster. It was obvious what the Gamemakers were trying to do. They clearly didn't think a finale between the two of them was exciting enough, so they were trying to spice it up a little bit. Maybe draw it out a little. But it was only a matter of time before…

Valion dodged Galen's next blow, diving towards his legs. If he could knock Galen off-guard in this wind, maybe he would have a better chance. But Galen sidestepped easily, and Valion barely had time to dodge his swing. Valion got to his feet as quickly as he could, coughing, trying to keep his eyes open despite the dust that was starting to sting them.

Was that what the Gamemakers were trying to do? Blind them? If so, it was working. He could barely see Galen amid the dust. But Galen didn't seem to be faring much better, staggering this way and that in the wind, swinging his rapier blindly, hoping to hit his mark.

 _Think._

Quickly, Valion dropped to his knees. Galen didn't seem to see. The wind was growing stronger. Louder – almost like the roar of a train. Valion dropped lower to the ground. He could barely see Galen anymore. Bue he kept crawling in the last direction he'd seen his opponent, hoping he was still there.

But was he?

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

Where was he?

Galen took a step backwards. Then another. Amid the blinding dust, he'd completely lost track of Valion. He clutched Cedra's rapier tightly. His opponent could be anywhere. Maybe it would be better to back up a little more. Try to get out of the storm. Get a better view of what was going on.

But there didn't seem to be any way _out_ of the storm. If the Gamemakers had wanted them to avoid the storm, they would have given them more warning. No, there was no way _out_. But maybe…

 _In the eye of a hurricane there is quiet._

It was an old saying in District Four – and, from his experience, true. Whenever the worst storms hit the coast, there was always a period of calm in the center of the storm. This certainly wasn't a hurricane, but maybe the same thing was true about sandstorms. The winds certainly seemed to be circling a particular spot.

A spot Valion wouldn't think to go.

Galen turned as quickly as he could towards what he hoped was the eye of the storm. The winds were getting worse, and, finally, he couldn't manage to stay upright anymore. The wind tore the rapier form his hands. But he kept going. Crawling through the worst of the wind, until—

The eye. Suddenly, he broke through the wall of wind, and everything went still. Absolutely still. The storm still whirled around him, but he was safe. Safe for a moment. Galen staggered to his feet, staring up at the sky. All around him, the orange dust circled, but just above, the sky was a perfect blue.

But he couldn't stay here forever. Valion was still out there somewhere. And waiting out the storm here – that wasn't an option. He had to find his opponent. But where…?

Galen glanced this way and that, barely able to catch a glimpse of anything through the swirling dust. Then he saw Valion – or, at least, what he had to assume was Valion. A darker shape, hunkered down maybe twenty feet outside the eye, shielding his face from the storm. Waiting for it to pass.

But it wouldn't pass. Galen clutched his blade tightly – the only weapon he had left. But it would have to do.

He didn't have any other choice.

Galen took a deep breath. He would only get one chance. One chance to get this right. But that would have to be enough.

He charged out of the eye.

* * *

 **Valion Surge, 53  
** **District Five**

He would only have one chance.

Valion clutched his rod tightly with both hands as Galen approached. He couldn't see his opponent, but he could see his feet approaching. Which was good, because he'd lost track of Galen earlier. At now Valion knew where he was.

Valion ducked lower, trying to look like he was cowering away from the wind. And that was part of it. But he knew he wouldn't be able to wait this out. Galen was coming – and quickly. It was only a matter of time before…

Just as Galen's feet were almost on top of him, Valion sprung up. Galen swung. He swung. His rod connected with Galen's stomach just as Galen's blade grazed his shoulder. Valion swung again, this time hitting Galen's back, but Galen quickly ducked away from the blow, diving for Valion's legs.

Valion barely had time to leap out of the way – but, as he landed, the wind swept him off his feet. He managed to break his fall, but the rod went flying from his hands. Galen staggered towards him unsteadily, giving him time to reach for a knife.

But, to his surprise. Galen didn't swing. He fell. Threw himself on top of Valion, landing with an "Oof." Valion gasped, coughing amid the dust, struggling to wriggle free. But it was no good. Galen was too heavy. Something sliced deep into his neck. Over the wind, he was sure he heard two words. "I'm sorry."

Then the weight was gone. Galen stood up. Backed away. The wind was starting to die down. For a moment, Valion was sure he could see blue sky above him.

Then the cannon sounded.

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **District Four**

 _Boom._

Galen staggered to his feet as the cannon sounded. The wind was dying down, leaving only the body in front of him. Valion's body, his blood staining the sand around him, spattered about by the wind. Galen took a step backwards as a voice echoed through the arena. "Ladies and Gentlemen! The Victor of the this year's Quarter Quell, Galen Archer of District Four!"

Galen took a deep breath. Those were the same words he had heard fifty years ago. He had survived then. And he was still alive. He swallowed hard.

He was still alive.

He was going to live.

Silently, he raised his blade towards the sky in a salute of sorts as the hovercraft descended. He could practically hear the audience cheering. Applauding their Victor. The Victor of Victors. Probably not the one they were expecting. Maybe not the one they were hoping for. But the one they had, nonetheless.

Galen gripped the rope ladder as it descended from the hovercraft. Two men were waiting to pull him in to safety. Once he was safely aboard, he collapsed onto the floor of the hovercraft, exhausted. Still, he couldn't help but smile.

He was alive. He had won. And he wasn't going to apologize for that.

Twenty-three other tributes were dead. And he _was_ sorry about that. Sorry that Valion was dead. That Cedra was dead. That Aras and Jani and the others were dead. He was sorry for that.

But he wasn't sorry that he wasn't one of them. He wasn't sorry that he was alive. He was going home to his family. His daughters. His grandson.

And he would never be sorry for that.

* * *

" _We'll win."_

" _Oh, will you? Well, maybe. Maybe you will win! But nobody wins for long. The wheel just keeps turning."_


	38. Stories

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games is not mine.

 **Note:** And ... yeah, this is it. Last chapter, everybody. I batted around how I wanted to wrap this one up for a while, but finally decided to go with this.

* * *

 **Stories**

* * *

 **Galen Archer, 66  
** **Victor of the 75th Hunger Games**

It seemed to take ages to wash the dust away.

Galen took a deep breath, brushing his hair out of his eyes one more time before taking the stage. He could still feel that strange burnt orange dust on his skin, in his hair, in his eyes. He still didn't quite feel clean. Maybe it was his imagination. Maybe it was the fact that it had barely been twenty-four hours since he'd left the arena.

Usually, they waited longer. A few days, at least. Usually, they gave the Victor more time to recover before being presented to the Capitol. But, physically speaking, he was in pretty good shape. The Games had lasted only a few days. Twenty-three of his fellow Victors – his _friends_ – gone in a matter of days. _Physically_ , he was fine, but…

 _Stop it._ He was alive. He was going home. That was what mattered. Not what he was about to see when they played the tape of the Games. His fellow Victors were gone, yes, but they wouldn't want him to spend the rest of his life dwelling on that fact. That wasn't what he had done the first time, and that sure as hell wasn't what he was going to do now.

But there _was_ a time for mourning. A time for remembering. And, as much as he might try to avoid it or wish it away, that time was now. Galen braced himself as the host, Gabriel, finished his introductory speech. "And now, the moment you've been waiting for! Please welcome the Victor of the First _and_ Third Quarter Quells, Galen Archer!"

The crowd roared. Galen couldn't help smiling as he took the stage. As much as some of the others might not want to admit it, the crowd's excitement, their enthusiasm, their liveliness … it was contagious. Even if it was a bit misplaced, it was still rather thrilling.

He took a bow. Then another. Then, finally, as the roar of the crowd died down a little, he took a seat next to Gabriel. "Bet you didn't expect to see _me_ again," he teased.

The crowd got a laugh out of that. "Certainly not this soon," Gabriel deflected. "One of the shortest Hunger Games _ever_. Do you think that's a product of the tributes' experience?"

"Maybe. Even the oldest of us knew we couldn't hide out in a cave with spiders forever." Another round of laughter. "But I think a lot of us just … well, wanted to get it over with. Don't get me wrong – I'm glad to be here. But to be honest, I'm a bit anxious to get back to my family."

That much was certainly true – and part of the reason he'd agreed to such an early appearance. It had been less than two weeks since he'd left District Four, but it already seemed like ages.

"That's certainly understandable," Gabriel conceded, "but I hope they'll forgive us is we keep you a little while longer."

Galen chuckled. "I wouldn't count on it. Storm was already a bit upset that _she_ didn't get to volunteer this year. But I think getting me back will be enough of a consolation prize."

"Let's hope so – for all our sakes." Gabriel gave Galen a hearty pat on the back. "This was certainly an emotional Hunger Games for all of us. Saying goodbye to so many familiar faces – it's been hard for us all. Shall we have a look back at it together?"

That was his cue. As soon as he said yes, the tape would start to play. The highlights from the Games – all there for him to see. How his friends died. How they killed each other for the Capitol's amusement. Galen shook his head. "Not yet."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Not yet," Galen repeated. "First … first I'd like to tell you a story."

"A story?"

Galen nodded. "A story. Well, no. That's not quite right. Not one story." He smiled a little, turning towards the audience this time.

"Twenty-three stories."

* * *

 **President Julian Linus**

"Twenty-three stories."

Julian tensed as Galen paused for a second. What was he doing? The older Victor probably didn't mean any harm, but any deviation from the normal post-Games routine was an opportunity for rebellion. The mood in the Capitol had been rather strained throughout most of the Games, but, when Galen had emerged victorious, there had been a collective sigh of relief. He wasn't a Career by any means, but he'd certainly never showed any signs of rebellion.

After a moment, Galen continued. "For most tributes – at least in a normal year – the Capitol is a somewhat … distant concept. They've heard of it, of course. Heard stories, rumors … but that's not the same as experiencing it. But by the same token, the districts are … well, let's just say they're probably not the first thing on your minds when it's _not_ time for the Games. The point is, for most tributes, the reaping is the first you see of them – and their deaths in the Games are the last. You get to know most of them for a few days. A week or two, if they're lucky."

Galen leaned back in his chair. "But me – well, you've known me for a good fifty years now. And if you know anything about me, you know I love to talk. I got to know almost all of the Victors who were in the Games with me this year. And that made it harder, it's true, but it was also … it was also a privilege, to be able to witness their lives. We all witnessed their deaths, but, for years, I got to see them _live._

"I got to see a boy from District Five who tricked and manipulated his way to a win fourteen years after my own victory grow into a loving father and grandfather. I saw a pair of brothers from District Two help each other through the Games – and try to support each other in the aftermath. I saw a young orphan unite her district with her kindness, and an old woman shepherd dozens of tributes through the Games – and several of them to victory. I've seen Victors, each in their own way, striving to move on with their lives, to make something of their time. Because if there's one thing that the Games has taught all of is, it's that our time is short.

"But I'm not here to bemoan what happened in the Games. I'm here to celebrate what happened before. Not only how my fellow Victors died, but also how they _lived_ – with courage and dignity and a fierce desire to survive. It's a desire we can all understand. A desire we all share. A desire only eclipsed, perhaps, by our desire to be remembered. To know that, once we're gone, there will be someone to remember, to tell our story."

Galen leaned forward a little. "So tell their stories. Of their deaths, yes, but also of their lives. Their accomplishments. Their dreams and their faults and their triumphs and their failures. Death … death is easy to talk about. It's final. It's certain. Life … life is so much more intimidating. So much more unpredictable. So much more exciting.

"So for all of them – in their memory, in their honor – promise me this … this one thing. When you talk about these Victors, these tributes, these _people,_ don't just talk about their deaths. Share the stories of their lives. And for their sakes – in their names – make the most of your own. Have a good life. Make your _own_ life a story worth telling." Galen flashed a smile.

And the crowd cheered.

* * *

" _History is a burden. Stories can make us fly."_


End file.
